


Serendipity

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Sugar Daddy Keith, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Art Model & Grad Student Shiro, Artist Keith (Voltron), Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Boys In Love, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Switching, Kimono Sex, Kosmo is a cockblocker, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sugar Baby Shiro, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Keith (Voltron), ankle appreciation, excessive Shiro thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Keith’s a successful artist with more money than he knows what to do with. Shiro’s a struggling grad student whose idea of luxury is boxed macaroni and cheese. When Keith hires Shiro to do some live art modeling to get him out of his art block, both of their lives begin to change in ways neither of them could have expected.Or the one where Keith accidentally becomes a sugar daddy and Shiro is into it.





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> I was so excited to do this Sheithlentines exchange and I really hope you like your gift, Courtney! I tried to incorporate as much of your likes as I could which was honestly so much fun because I think we love a lot of the same things. This was a completely new trope for me to write and I was a little nervous but had a blast doing it.
> 
> Thank you whiskeyandwildflowers for the alpha read, restlessandordinary for the support and TDcaats for the beta! I was so nervous to tackle this trope and you guys helped me get my vision into words.

“Absolutely not,” Keith said, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed Pidge who was sitting cross-legged on the opposite sofa—her laptop open in her lap and her backpack dumped on Keith’s sofa in search of a piece of candy bar she’d sworn must’ve been in there but was nowhere to be found.

His dog, Kosmo, whined loudly and pressed his nose into Keith’s knee. “I’m ok, buddy,” he said, ruffling the fur atop Kosmo’s head as if to convince him. Kosmo seemed unconvinced, placing his chin on Keith’s knee and staring at him.

“Yes,” Pidge said adamantly, narrowing her eyes at Keith in a way that was far more intimidating than should have been possible for someone who was barely over five feet tall, ninety five pounds soaking wet, and who still got carded at the gas station when she bought scratchers because despite being twenty-one she barely looked fifteen.

“Pidge, _no_.”

The smile that spread across Pidge’s face could only be described as victorious. “Pidge, yes.”

Keith threw his arms in the air, knowing that arguing with her was futile. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Keith was going to win this argument, or anything argument with her really.

Pidge had been his best friend—his only friend really—for nearly two years. The day he’d moved into his house the wifi had refused to work, and because it’d been a Saturday afternoon his internet company had been unable to send anyone out to help him troubleshoot until Monday. Faced with the prospect of almost an entire weekend in a new house in a new city without the ability to numb his nerves by binge watching Netflix had been unthinkable, so he’d thrown on his jacket and headed out to the local Best Buy in the hopes of finding a sympathetic employee who might be able to help him figure out why the fuck his home seemed to be a dead zone.

He’d been in the store for half an hour, his arms laden with everything from cables he’d never heard of to a second router—not that he knew how that would help since his first one didn’t work—when someone who looked like they were in middle school tapped him on the shoulder and told him he was going to regret his purchases. Keith had been shocked into silence, unsure if the small human shoving her glasses up her nose and poking him in the back was for real.

“I’ll come over and fix it for you. I’ll only charge fifty bucks too because you look pathetic.”

Keith knew he should’ve been offended, but he’d been too shocked to do anything except leave his purchases in a basket at the end of the line before giving Pidge an address and phone number. He wondered if today was the day he was going to be murdered by someone who gave off the vibe that she knew ten ways to kill him without leaving a trace, while also looking like she still watched cartoons on Saturday morning.

Keith wasn’t sure he’d actually expected the girl to show, but show she had with a backpack bigger than her body and a smile. She’d barged straight into Keith’s home—and his life—and Keith had never looked back. Pidge was bossy, blunt, and quite possibly one of the greatest people Keith had ever met. She was fearless and full of so much conviction about every single thing she did that it left no room for anyone else to question her when she clearly never questioned herself. Pidge was a Supernova, and while Keith felt certain she’d leave a gaping black hole in his life when she left him like everyone else he’d ever cared about had, he’d been unable to stop himself from carving out a spot for her in his heart.

Except Pidge didn't leave. Not weeks later, not months later. In fact two years later Keith sometimes wondered if Pidge actually lived at his place and not at home with her parents since her stuff was always everywhere. She kept her tasteless unsweetened cashew milk in his fridge, and she’d changed all the locks into his house to a high tech fingerprinted security system that was apparently also keyed to her.

He was startled from his thoughts when a crumbled-up wrapper from an empty bag of hot Cheetos hit him square in the forehead and bounced off to land on top of Kosmo, who didn’t look at all amused. “Bullseye,” she whistled.

Kosmo seemed to realize this was a normal Pidge and Keith, not a ”real-fight” fight, and once he’d decided for himself that nothing was actually wrong with Keith, he twirled around so quickly his enormous bushy tail whacked Keith. Then with all the grace of a drunk rhino he ambled slowly over to his plush red velvet dog bed in the corner and plopped down on it as if he had personally just suffered something monumentally exhausting. His legs collapsed to the side as he did a dead drop on top of the stuffed hippo Keith had got him last week. It already looked like someone had tried to murder it despite the pet store employee swearing the chew toy was dog proof. Then again, maybe Kosmo wasn’t all dog. Keith had adopted him from the shelter the day he’d got his first paycheck for selling one of his pieces to the a fancy gallery downtown—Altea Designs. He’d been starving, three months past due on rent, and in desperate need of a new wardrobe, but he’d gone straight to the shelter to adopt Kosmo before he was set to be euthanized in two weeks.

Keith knew Kosmo wasn’t much to look at—he was an oversized mutt that looked part wolf and part unidentified jurassic period creature. The pound had warned Keith that Kosmo didn’t like anyone. He’d liked Keith though, and Keith had liked him. He thought perhaps there was an unspoken kinship between them—both aware of what it was like to be unwanted and seen as too much trouble.

It’d been just them for years, and Keith had thought that was all he needed in life—a dog and a paintbrush, some food in his belly, and a safe place to live, at least until he’d met Pidge. She’d forced him to realise that talking to his canvases or his dog did not in fact count as quality social interaction and that perhaps he’d been a tiny bit lonely. The loneliness had worked well for his art, though, and by the time Keith met Pidge he was more successful than he’d ever thought possible, with more money to his name than he could ever need. Keith’s life had been better than ever, at least until a few months ago when he’d woken up one morning, sat in front of his blank canvas, and realized with abject horror that he had no idea what he wanted to paint. He’d tried taking a break and moving to drawing, then mixed media. He’d even taken a four-week photography class at the local community college, but nothing had sparked his creativity. Everything he tried to paint felt soulless and empty, and he’d end up punching a hole through the canvas or shoving it in the trash when Pidge wasn’t there to scold him about it.

Which is exactly how he’d ended up in this mess, arguing with Pidge over her brilliant idea for him to hire a live model to do some rudimentary line and body work. She seemed determined to help him find his passion again, which Keith appreciated more than he could say.

“Okay, fine,” Keith sighed dramatically, “let’s pretend I’m going to entertain this ridiculous idea of yours. Hypothetically, what exactly did you have in mind?”

Pidge inhaled sharply, eyes bright with excitement as she shoved her laptop onto the sofa and rose onto her knees. She gripped the edge of the couch cushions and leaned forward, her entire demeanor buzzing with obvious excitement. “Oh I love a good hypothetical situation. Right, so hypothetically,” she said lifting up her hands to make air quotations, “there’s this guy that I think would be the perfect art model for you.”

“I just want to make it clear, for the record, that I think this is going to be an awful idea and won’t work. I’ve never used a live model for any of my art before, and I don’t see why I should start now.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and pretended to take notes in the air, making a scribbling motion with her right. “Let the record show Keith Kogane is being a pessimistic asshole.”

“Fuck you,” Keith said, grabbing the couch cushion and throwing it at Pidge. It missed her by several feet, but Pidge still flipped him off.

“Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I know a guy.”

“She knows a guy,” Keith mumbled. Pidge pointedly ignored him.

“I know a guy,” she said again, louder this time. “And before you say it, he’s not an asshole, a flake, or a self-entitled douchebag. Or a serial killer.”

Keith wasn’t sure he believed her, but he didn’t interrupt again, so Pidge nodded to herself and continued to talk.

“He’s a friend of Matt’s. They met in college, and my parents sort of unofficially adopted him the day he and Matt became roommates freshman year. He didn’t have any family, and you know how my mom is about people who look like they need a family.”

“Yeah,” Keith said softly. He knew all too well. He still remembered the day he’d met Pidge’s mom— _Call me Colleen,_ she’d told him happily—a few weeks after they’d first become friends. Pidge’s car had broken down, and Colleen had come to Keith’s to pick her up. She’d walked right into Keith’s house, taken one look at him, and said he looked like the good sort. The next day, when Pidge had come over to play video games, she’d also come bearing five different homemade casseroles for Keith’s fridge and freezer because her mom had got it into her head that Keith might starve without her help. Keith hadn’t been sure what to make of someone trying to mother him, since not even his own mother had ever done that. In the end, the smell of roasted chicken and noodles had been too much to resist, and he and Pidge had sat together eating the casserole straight out of the dish.

After that, Coleen would periodically send food for Keith despite the fact that he did know how to cook and could afford as much takeaway as he wanted. She also sent him Christmas and birthday cards and stole the phone from Pidge sometimes just to say hi and see how he was doing.

At the time Keith was twenty-two years old and living alone and had been supporting himself since the day he’d turned eighteen and aged out of the foster care system. He’d been sure he was well past needing any kind of parental figure in his life, but apparently, Pidge’s mom had known better. He wondered whether maybe all Holt women were like that, knowing what other people needed when they didn't even know themselves. The fact that Pidge and Colleen both liked this guy made his normal reservations slightly lower, though it wasn’t enough to dissolve them entirely.

“So he’s a model, huh? He’s probably totally conceited.”

“I already told you he's not. Besides he’s not that kind of model, although he could be if he finds himself unemployable post grad school like most people do. But if you like the sort of guy who looks like he could bench press you with one arm tied behind his back and has a body that should be carved out of marble and on display at the Louvre...” Pidge singsonged. She pretended she wasn’t watching Keith out of the corner of her eye, but since they were both perfectly aware of what type of guy Keith found attractive, the ruse was pointless.

The problem with Keith’s taste in men was that he had absolutely no desire to spend time with most of the guys he liked to look at. Which was just as well, since they didn't seem at all inclined to take the time to understand Keith or the things that really mattered to him. Keith knew he wasn’t an easy person to love, but if someone wasn’t willing to put in the work to find out what that took, then they didn’t deserve him. He might’ve been insecure and antisocial, but Keith knew his goddamn worth.

Of course Keith didn’t need to like this guy to paint him. He only needed to look at him. Besides, he had enough money to pay him not to talk if he wanted. Keith wasn’t looking for a relationship, just a way out of his current art block so he could make some new pieces before his gallery showing in three months and to ensure his agent didn’t have a heart attack worrying he’d never create art again.

“I’m listening.”

Pidge clapped her hands together. “Perfect. I thought that would interest you. His name is Shiro, and he’s a full-time grad student. He does art modeling part time at the college sometimes for the extra money since he’s doing a joint degree program to get his MBA and his PhD in Aerospace Engineering and doesn’t have time for a full-time job if he wants to keep up his fellowships for science PhD.”

“So he’s a nerd.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “For someone who hates when other people label him, you sure are trying to pigeonhole Shiro, you insufferable dickhead. Just meet him. I can promise you if nothing else, he’s definitely your type to look at. Worst case scenario, you stare at him for an hour or two and find a little inspiration to get some sketches out, maybe even start a new painting.”

Keith hated to admit when Pidge was right, especially since it happened so often, so he didn't. “And what's the best case scenario?”

The smile that spread across Pidge’s face was positively gleeful. “Oh, you’ll see.”

****

***~*~*~**

Keith paced his kitchen, his socked feet squeaking on the tile floor as he sighed heavily and eyed the large clock that hung over the eat-in nook in the corner that read 10:27. Shiro was twenty-seven minutes late, and it was beginning to set Keith’s nerves on edge. Not that Keith was a stickler for punctuality, far from it. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been on time for anything in his entire life. He’d gotten so many detentions in high school for being late he’d almost been kicked out.

But this was different. Keith was letting someone into his home who wasn’t Pidge or Colleen or the pizza delivery guy who knew his order and address by heart because he got takeout so much. This was a living breathing person who was going to come inside Keith’s home, a place he’d carefully crafted to be the kind of safe haven from the world he never thought he’d have.

It wasn’t that Keith was scared of people, he just found strangers difficult to get along with. The faux politeness and nuances of causal interaction had always eluded Keith, which is probably why he’d never had many friends. He didn’t like lying or small talk and had never been good at saying things people wanted to hear just to be polite. It was a miracle Pidge didn’t seem sick of him yet.

When the doorbell finally rang a few minutes later Keith took a steadying breath as he reminded himself that Keith was paying Shiro to be his model, and that was all. He wasn’t required to be polite to him, or even to talk to him. When it came down to it, Keith didn't even need to like him—which was good, since Keith didn’t like most people. Kosmo lifted his head up from where he was sprawled out on another one of his numerous dog beds in the corner, his ears sticking straight up and his tail going stiff. Keith couldn’t blame him; the doorbell rarely rang.

“It’s okay, Kosmo, it's just the doorbell. It’s Shiro. Remember we talked about someone new coming over for me to draw. Pidge says he’s nice. It’ll be fine.” Keith wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Kosmo or himself.

Kosmo let out a low bark, hopping to his feet and running to follow Keith. Keith let his hand rest atop Kosmo’s head as he went to the door. This would be fine. It was a one-time situation just to get Pidge off his back and let her feel like she was helping him so she would stop looking like a kicked puppy whenever Keith got stressed out about his inability to create something.

“Sit,” he told Kosmo, who obeyed quickly, planting his butt down as his tail slapped loudly against the floor.

Keith opened the door, not at all sure what to expect, and was met with the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes upon. Shiro was over six feet of pure muscle with the kindest eyes Keith had ever seen. He was dressed in a skin-tight black henley that was shoved up to his elbows and showed off the muscular line of his forearms, as well as the gleaming metal of a prosthetic. Despite his curiosity about the arm, Keith could barely take his eyes off his chest, especially with the top few buttons of his shirt missing so it was open to show off sharp collarbones and the lightest dusting of dark hair peeking out of the deep V of his shirt. He was broad-chested with rippling muscles visible beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Keith had to swallow down the grunt he wanted to make, his heart racing as he dragged his eyes down Shiro’s chest to his impossibly trim waist. As if the shirt itself weren’t enough, he was wearing a pair of impossibly soft-looking light grey sweatpants that hung low enough on his hips that Keith could see the line of his white boxers beneath the hem where his shirt was riding up. They were definitely old, the material worn thin enough that Keith could see the outline of where his boxers were tight around his thighs and the considerable girth of his cock and his thick thighs. Jesus fucking Christ, Pidge hadn’t been kidding.

Shiro was a walking wet dream. He looked like someone had hand plucked every single physical desire from Keith’s mind and modeled the most attractive man to ever walk the earth. Keith was overcome by the embarrassing and overwhelming urge to reach and touch him just to see if he were real.

“Hi, you must be Keith,” he said when Keith simply stared instead of saying anything. “I’m Shiro. I’m so sorry I’m late. My bus got delayed and—” His words were cut off by Kosmo unexpectedly jumping towards him in a flurry of unbridled excitement.

“Kosmo, no!” Keith yelled, well-aware that most people seemed terrified of his dog.

To Keith’s immense surprise, rather than take a step away from Kosmo, Shiro dropped to his knees and smiled as he turned his hands palms-up clearly trying to exhibit the least threatening behavior possible. Kosmo barked once before shoving his face straight into Shiro’s chest. Shiro laughed, running his large hands up and down Kosmo’s back. Encouraged by the affection, Kosmo put his paws on Shiro’s knees and practically tried to climb in his lap, making the beanie on Shiro’s head fall off when Kosmo let out a low whine trying to nuzzle Shiro’s face, licking a long swipe alongside Shiro’s jawline.

“You’re a good doggie aren’t you,” Shiro said, looking up at Keith. The movement shifted his shirt, and Keith noticed the hint of a chain around his neck, tucked inside the snug fitting henley.

“Kosmo. His name is Kosmo,” Keith said stupidly, so shocked by Kosmo’s behavior he was surprised his brain was able to string two words together. He’d never in all his years seen Kosmo take to anyone like this. Kosmo barely even liked Pidge. They seemed to have come to some sort of silent agreement wherein they both recognized the other one liked Keith but otherwise mostly ignored each other.

Keith had even tried taking Kosmo to an elite and expensive dog psychologist and dog training a few months after adopting him because he’d been concerned about Kosmo’s refusal to go near anyone who wasn’t him. It wasn’t that Kosmo was ever aggressive, he was just more antisocial than Keith and watching him hide in the corner of the dog park had made Keith’s chest ache as he recalled years spent on the school playground swinging alone. But thousands of dollars and months of training and therapy had done nothing.

The closest they’d ever come was when Kosmo wagged his tail when the pizza delivery came, though Keith was pretty sure that had more to do with the pizza than the delivery person.

And yet here was his massive fucking bear-sized dog that hated everyone trying to curl up in a stranger’s lap like he were some sort of lap dog. It was simultaneously the most unusual and adorable thing Keith had ever seen, and he had to lean against the doorframe, barely able to resist the urge to shove his fist in his mouth and scream when Kosmo rolled onto his back and Shiro squatted lower, the sweats pulling across his thick thighs as he enthusiastically rubbed Kosmo’s belly.

“He sure is friendly, isn’t he?” Shiro said, eyes still on Kosmo. “Is always this social?”

Keith opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He licked his lips and tried again. “No.”

Shiro looked up, an adorably confused frown on his face. “No?”

Keith shook his head. “Normally he hates everyone.”

Shiro cocked his head to the side, patting Kosmo’s belly one last time for good measure before rising to stand. “I’m really not sure if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not,” Keith assured him, noticing that Kosmo continued to linger near Shiro’s feet instead of returning to his usual place beside Keith. “He’s a horrible grump. He hates everyone, well, except for me. Oh, and Pidge, but that’s only because she won him over by feeding him under the table when I wasn’t looking.”

Shiro grinned. “That sounds like Pidge.”

Keith nodded, still too taken aback by the current developments to make small talk. Shiro cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, making the material pull down enough that Keith was granted a view of the flat expanse of Shiro’s flat stomach, a line of dark hair dipping down below the waistband of his boxers that sat very low on his hips.

 

Mistaking Keith’s staring, Shiro began to frown as he looked down at himself. “I’m sorry about the clothes. I wasn’t entirely sure what to wear. I’ve done this a few times, and it was always in front of a full class of freshman doing anatomy studies. Didn’t matter what I wore then since I was naked the whole time, but Pidge didn’t say why type of modeling you might want and I sort of forgot to do my laundry last night because I was up late studying which meant I overslept and missed the first bus and...I’m making an idiot of myself,” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand.

“No, you’re not, you’re fine,” Keith said, surprised at his desire to assuage Shiro’s awkwardness. Normally Keith didn’t really worry about this sort of thing, but somehow the idea of Shiro thinking there was a single thing even remotely inadequate about his appearance was inconceivable.

“If you’re sure,” Shiro said, a bit of a smile returning to his face.

It was only then that Keith realized he was still leaning against his doorframe entirely blocking the way in while Shiro stood outside in the chilly midmorning air. “Fuck, I’m being rude. Sorry,” he said, taking two steps back. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” Shiro answered, bending over to grab his beanie off the doorstep. Instead of putting it back on his head he shoved it into his pocket before running his fingers through his hair, making a shock of white hair fall into his eyes in a way that only made him even more attractive.

Kosmo seemed equally excited that this new man he was apparently so fond of was coming inside and let out a yelp of approval as he tried to weave his way in and out of Shiro’s legs. Shiro laughed, stumbling slightly as he fell into Keith.

Keith let out an _oof_ of surprise, unprepared for the shear girth of Shiro colliding with him, but also more than capable of supporting him as his own hands flew up to grab ahold of each of Shiro’s firm biceps. Keith’s hands barely fit around them, and he let his fingers squeeze the firm flesh as he helped to steady him, Shiro’s chest pressing into his and their foreheads just inches from each other. Up close Keith could see a single freckle at the corner of Shiro’s left eye and the sweep of his long eyelashes.

By some miracle they did not fall to the floor in a pile, and instead Keith was able to brace his feet in a wide stance to continue to support Shiro’s weight. Shiro blinked at him looking utterly surprised by the turn of events, as if frozen in place. Not that Keith minded at all. Shiro smelled crisp like fresh air, and his entire body was radiating warmth as if he were the sun itself.

“Shit, sorry,” Shiro exclaimed, practically leaping back when he seemed to realize he’d been leaning against Keith without moving for almost a full ten seconds.

“It’s not a problem,” Keith said, feeling an unexpected smile tugging at the corners of lips when a light pink flush blossomed across the bridge of Shiro’s nose highlighting a scar that Keith had not immediately noticed. Curiosity flared within him, and Keith wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He was used to going through life as unconcerned about other people as they were with him, but something about this man standing before him made his brain burst with curiosity. How did he get the prosthetic and the scar? Why did Kosmo like him so much? How was a man this attractive a struggling grad student instead of an actual model? And most importantly, why the fuck was he still staring at Keith like _that_.

“What?” Keith questioned.

The flush on Shiro’s face grew deeper as Shiro licked his lips. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

Keith had heard that sentence before, more times than he could count. He knew he was a bit scrappy looking. His dad had once told him before he died that he had taken after his mom. Of course the way his dad said it you would’ve thought Keith was meant for the ballet rather than the streets. Once he’d gone into the foster system he’d done everything he could to try to protect himself, to look more menacing than he was. He hated being the target of schoolyard bullies who thought that because he didn’t have parents he was somehow worthless, or being at the mercy of foster parents who thought that because he looked weak he was.

Except no matter how much he tried, nothing seemed to add any weight or muscle to his body. But that didn’t mean that years of training in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat to make sure he could always protect himself hadn’t left his body lithe and more than capable of taking down a man twice his size.

Normally Keith bristled at the sentence, well aware that what most people meant by that statement was that he looked weak. Shiro, however, was looking at him in a way that would’ve made Keith blush if he were the kind of man who blushed.

Instead Keith smiled. “Thanks.”

“So,” Shiro mumbled, rubbing his cheek with his left hand. “Where do you want me?”

Keith inhaled sharply, shoving down his gut response, which was _naked and beneath me_. What the hell was wrong with him? He knew it’d been too long since he’d had sex or a relationship of any kind, but this type of immediate attraction was ridiculous even for him. Especially since Shiro wasn’t here for that; he was here to help get Keith out of his art block and nothing more.

“Um,” he started, unsure why he wasn’t just telling Shiro what he wanted. He didn’t normally struggle with letting people know how he felt. “Do you want something to drink? Water maybe?”

Shiro continued to watch him. “No, thank you.”

“Coffee,” Keith blurted out. “You want some coffee?”

“Coffee is good.” Shiro’s eyebrow rose in the corner, an undeniable look of interest. “I like coffee.”

Keith let out a sigh of relief, unsure where the sudden urge to give Shiro something had some from. “How do you like it?”

“Any way I can get it,” Shiro laughed, and Keith once again had to resist the urge to shove his fist into his mouth.

“So you’re a coffee connoisseur then?” Keith asked, automatically walking towards his kitchen, the one room in the house that was not sparse. It had been completely redone before Keith moved in, decked out with glass cupboards, sleek black granite countertops, and a cherry-red backsplash. Despite the fact that Keith wasn’t a big fan of cooking, besides his studio it was his favorite room in the house. He liked the sunlight that streamed in through the window over the enormous kitchen sink in the morning, liked to eat his cereal at the high bar while he read the paper and Kosmo napped in the corner.

“That depends on your definition,” Shiro replied, trying not to look around. Keith didn’t blame him. He supposed it must be a bit awkward to be having coffee in someone’s home you don’t know, but then again it didn’t feel awkward. Not even a little bit.  
“Pretty sure there’s only one definition for connoisseur,” Keith answered, turning away from Shiro to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard above the coffee machine—one black and one red, each one bearing an intricate winged design that called to Keith. He’d seen them in the window of a small gallery downtown and immediately purchased them, unable to explain why he felt so drawn to the handcrafted mugs.

“Thought you might say that,” Shiro said, leaning against the counter. “Let’s say I’m less of a connoisseur and more of a fan. A fan that takes whatever he can afford.”

“So long as you don’t tell me you drink instant coffee,” Keith teased, pressing the button on the front of the machine to heat the water. He set Shiro’s cup down on the stainless steel grate, then realized that Shiro hadn’t answered, and he turned to look at him with his mouth hanging open. “Oh my god, don’t tell me you actually drink instant coffee.”

Shiro looked unsure whether or not to laugh, and both his lips pulled between his teeth before he threw his hands up. “Listen it’s not my fault alright. It’s cheap. Sometimes it’s all I can afford. Grad school isn’t cheap.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” Keith said, well aware of what it was like to do without. “Listen, this thing can make anything you want, hit me with a drink.”

Shiro stared at the machine instead of Keith and whistled. “You need a permit to operate that thing.”

Keith snorted. “It’s not that complicated once you know how it works. This setting here is for cup size, then you’ve got to decide if you want a latte or espresso or just brewed coffee, then it’s got milk options as well.”

“What do you normally drink?” Shiro asked curiously, scooting a bit closer and learning in to examine the coffee pot. His right shoulder grazed against Keith’s as he stuck his hand out to trace it down the digital menu flashing across the top, the metal of his prosthetic gleaming as brightly as the machine.

Neither of them made any attempt to move apart.

“Depends on my mood. I don’t like my coffee sweet, and I like it _strong_.” Shiro cocked his head to the side to grin at Keith for a brief moment before turning his eyes back to the menu. “A quad macchiato most days. Sometimes a flat white. What about you? What do you want? What kind of drink does a man like you like?”

As if to demonstrate for Shiro, he pulled out the cup meant for Shiro and replaced it with his own to show him how it worked.

Shiro leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms across his chest once more. “I’m pretty easy to please. Why don’t you surprise me.”

“You like surprises, huh?” Keith asked, punching the button to make himself a cappuccino first, turning his head to watch Shiro as the scent of freshly ground beans filled the kitchen.

“Sometimes. When it’s a good one. Beside I’m curious what you think I’d like.”

The machine beeped twice, and Keith turned back, swapping out his mug for the black one meant for Shiro. “Ok, how sweet do you like things?”

“Let’s just say I’ve never met a cup of coffee too sweet for me,” Shiro answered with an easy smile.

“Ah, you’re one of those,” Keith said, pressing the button for the latte and changing the number of shots from his usual four to two.

“What exactly is _one of those_?” he asked, leaning over Keith’s shoulder, clearly trying to see what Keith was making him.

“One of those people who uses so much sugar you can’t even taste the actual coffee. You probably add disgusting amounts of flavored creamer to it as well.”

Shiro laughed, and Keith felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his disgust at the idea of coffee with sugar and sweetened creamer. “Urgh, I knew it. You’re just like Pidge. She’s always buying vanilla creamer and leaving it in my fridge. It’s an abomination to coffee everywhere.”

The machine beeped again and Keith pulled out the cup, but instead of handing it to Shiro he set it down in front of him before he opened the small cupboard beside the fridge. He pulled out a small bottle of cinnamon dolce syrup he’d bought from Starbucks for Pidge a few weeks ago and poured a heavy handed amount into the cup. Then he grabbed a spoon and stirred it before handing it off to Shiro.

“Thank you,” Shiro said, his large hands wrapping around the cup as he lifted it up to his mouth, his full lips forming an O as he blew on it before moving the cup to his lips and taking a tentative sip.

“You like it?” Keith asked.

Shiro didn’t answer immediately, looking down into the coffee cup and then at Keith twice before taking another deep drink. He inhaled, and the smile that spread across his face was absolutely radiant. Keith had never seen a man look happier over a simple cup of coffee. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. You’re amazing.”

Keith felt his insides flush with warmth. “You weren’t kidding about being easy to please.”

A look Keith could not identify appeared on Shiro’s face as he shrugged and took another drink.

“So uh, did you want to finish your coffee first or just get started?” Shiro asked, eyes darting to the clock above the stove as he sipped his latte.

Keith’s smile fell. Right. _The art._ He was paying Shiro to be here, and he was supposed to be getting inspired by Shiro’s physical form, not trying to figure out what kind of coffee the man liked or wondering if he were always so easy to please.

“Yeah, we can get get started now. My studio is upstairs. I turned the master bedroom into a studio not long after I moved in. It’s where I do most of my drawing and painting because the light is better up there. That and Kosmo isn’t allowed upstairs.”

“Lead the way,” Shiro said with a grin, hands still wrapped reverently around his own mug.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying what he was truly thinking. “Follow me.”

And follow him Shiro did, his tennis shoes padding behind Keith quietly on the hardwood floor. For someone as large as Shiro he was surprisingly light on his feet, and even without turning around he could hear the unmistakable sound of Shiro rubbing Kosmo’s head as they walked, the collar around Kosmo’s neck jingling the way it always did when he tried to rub his head into Keith’s palm.

“So did you just move here?” Shiro asked as they passed back through the living room and up the stairs, emerging onto the second floor landing.

“Um, no. Why?”

Shiro’s eyes roamed over the landing. “Oh sorry, it’s just...a bit empty. Unless you’re into minimalism, which is cool. Sometimes Pidge says I’m a bit of a hoarder so you probably shouldn’t listen to me about what constitutes a normal amount of shit to have in a house.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed, following Shiro’s gaze. Truthfully his house didn’t have much. The downstairs living area had a large television and a comfortable sofa that was twice as big as it should’ve been. The bookshelves that flanked the television were still half empty, and there were no photos on the wall. The stairwell was stark white, and the landing had nothing but a red duffle bag near the stairs from Keith’s trip to the gym the day before that he’d yet to unpack.

It wasn’t that Keith was a minimalist by nature. He liked stuff alright, and he could certainly afford it now. It was that despite his more than comfortable bank account, it was sometimes hard to shake his gut instinct to do without. Not that he lived without everything. He had a coffee machine that cost more than the average home down payment, his motorcycle was housed in a hermetically sealed garage, and his king-size bed had imported Egyptian cotton sheets. But he also still wore the same Converse he’d had for five years, and he was pretty sure most of the clothes he owned were the same ones he’d purchased during his first real clothing shopping spree after he sold his second painting when he was nineteen.

Then there was also the fact that no matter how much Keith tried, he had a hard time getting attached to people or things since neither lasted forever.

“No, I’ve lived here for three years,” he offered when the silence felt deafening. “I just, uh...haven’t had time to buy much.”

“Of course. You must be busy with your art.”

“Very busy,” Keith lied, thinking of the months spent lying on the floor of his studio staring at the ceiling, or the hours spent literally watching a single stroke of paint dry on canvas because he’d started something and felt unable to finish it.

Keith moved to stand in front of the double doors that led to his studio, pressing his thumb into the digital lock pad. It beeped once before the distinctive sound of the lock releasing sounded and Keith reached out to turn the handle and push it open.

Keith didn’t turn around to gauge Shiro’s reaction, instead moving swiftly to the desk in the corner to rummage around for a sketchbook and his charcoal pencils. Something about Shiro made him want to do something stripped bare and raw. It’d been ages since he’d simply sketched, and even longer since he’d used a simple charcoal pencil. But the strong lines of Shiro’s sharp jaw and his bright eyes were already burned into Keith’s brain, and he longed to see them them come to life in black and white.

When Keith turned around, the pencils and sketchbook clutched against his chest, it was to find Shiro staring at the first painting Keith had done when he’d moved here—a small canvas awash in blues and purples with a shooting star streaking across the sky.

“Wow,” Shiro whispered. “You’re really good.”

“Thank you,” Keith said, unexpectedly shy at the compliment. Keith knew he was good, was no stranger to being complimented. The difference was most of the time the compliments came from gallery owners and art critics that sometimes felt more like flattery than authenticity. But those simple words uttered from Shiro’s mouth were given freely, with no ulterior motive. He was here for a job, and he didn’t need to compliment Keith’s work, and yet Keith could see the undeniable appreciation as Shiro’s eyes raked over the galaxy he’d painted.

Shiro turned around to smile shyly at Keith, and it made something wild and desperate spring free in Keith’s chest.

For the first time in a long time Keith’s fingers itched to draw, to paint—to create anything that made him feel as untethered and euphoric as the soft smile from a stranger had made him feel.

“You ready?” Shiro asked.

Keith exhaled a shaky breath, a smile on his face. “ _Yes_.”

****

***~*~*~**

“So how did the session with Shiro go?” Pidge asked, pouring an ungodly amount of creamer into a coffee cup that was quite honestly bigger than she was.

“It was fine,” Keith answered carefully.

Pidge made a noise, capping the creamer before slamming it down onto the counter and spinning around looking like an angry elf. “Fine?!”

Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes.”

Pidge growled, and Kosmo lifted his head, his ears going straight up before he realized it was only Pidge and returned to his previous ministrations of destroying his stuffed hippo. “Keith Kogane, you better tell more than it was fine! It’s been over a week. I’ve been very patient. I even gave you Shiro’s address without question because I know you’re not a stalker or a serial killer, but if you don’t tell me more than fine right now I swear to god—”

“He’s special,” Keith yelled, interrupting her tirade. He wrapped his hands around his own mug of coffee and ducked his face so he didn’t have to look at Pidge. “He’s special alright. It went good.”

Pidge let out a whoop. “Yes! I knew it! I knew Shiro would be perfect for this! Oh my god, I’m even smarter than I thought. I need to write this down somewhere. Can you please say, ‘Pidge is always right.’ Just once. Please. Oh no wait, I know, say ‘Pidge is the master of the universe!’”

Keith stared at Pidge through the dark hair falling into his eyes. “I absolutely will not say that, Pidge.”

Pidge pretended to pout, a look that had absolutely zero effect on Keith. “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. I knew it would go good. Well perhaps _knew_ is a slight exaggeration since that presumes a type of certainty that was impossible to hold. I assumed though, based on the high statistical probability of Shiro being able to break through your Eeyore-like cloud of grumpiness with his ridiculously handsome smile.”

Keith’s eyes glazed over as he thought about that smile, as he recalled Shiro stripping off his shirt and sitting near the window, his entire face framed in the warmth of the midday sun as Keith had sat and traced the lines of his face with his pencils and felt a type of peace he hadn’t known in a very long time.

“Oh my god, are you smiling?” Pidge shrieked, moving to stand beside Keith. She set her coffee down next to Keith’s and stood on the tips of her toes to poke Keith’s cheeks. “Keith Kogane, do you have a crush on Shiro?”

Keith felt his eyes go wide. “ _No_ ,” he said a lot louder than was necessary given Pidge was inches from his face.

“You’re smiling. You said he’s special. You’ve never said that about anyone, not even me. Although I’m not offended since special isn’t a quantifier that I’m seeking from a man, especially from you. No offence, it’s just you’re more like my brother than Matt is.”

“No offence taken,” Keith mumbled, wondering when Pidge was going to stop poking his cheeks.

“It’s okay if you like him, you know. Everyone likes Shiro, though no one in the way he really deserves.”

Keith was saved from answering by the loud _ding dong_ of the doorbell. Kosmo barked, running to stand beside Keith as Pidge dropped her hands. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Probably someone trying to sell me a copy of the newspaper or wanting me to buy some cookies.” He hopped down off the stool and turned to walk to the front door, Pidge and Kosmo following behind him.

When he opened it he was shocked to see the face he’d been unable to stop drawing all week staring back at him. Unlike last time, Shiro was dressed to impress. Not that Keith had held any complaints about Shiro in a pair of thin sweats and a henley with bedhead. He’d been adorably crumpled and soft looking. But the Shiro standing on his doorstep today screamed sexy in a way that made Keith’s dick twitch with appreciation. He was dressed in a pair of snug-fitting dark wash jeans rolled up just above his light brown oxfords to show off the elegant line of his bare ankles. Keith had never once given ankles a second thought, but somehow seeing Shiro’s sharp ankle bones peeking out from beneath his jeans made Keith’s heart stuttur. His shirt was a thin white cotton that clung to his body showing off a flat stomach and muscled biceps, and his hair was styled and sticking up in the front in what should’ve been an awkward floof but instead was so attractive in made Keith weak in the knees. Though by far the most attractive thing he was wearing was his smile that lit up his entire face and gave the sharp angles of his masculine face a type of youthful boyishness Keith was very much attracted to.

“Hey,” Shiro said softly a moment before noticing Pidge and Kosmo in the back. He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Oh, hey Pidge. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Hello, Shiro,” Pidge said, loudly sipping her coffee in a way she knew drove Keith nuts to get his attention. He turned around to glare at her, and she wiggled her eyebrows at him in a ridiculous manner.

 _Shut up_ , he silently mouthed, contemplating flipping Pidge off.

“Oh my god, would you look at the time,” Pidge said, lifting her wrist to her face in an exaggerated motion. There was no watch. “I completely forgot I had _so_ much to do today. So much. Lots of important things. Too important to explain to you both because it would take way too long to put it into layman's terms for you.” She started to slowly walk to the door, eyeing up Shiro. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Keith,” Pidge said loudly, snatching her satchel off the hook by the front door and sliding sideways between the doorframe and Shiro’s bulking frame, Keith’s mug still in her hand.

“Bring that cup back tomorrow!” he yelled to Pidge’s back. “Every time you disappear with one of them I never see it again.” Pidge lifted a hand and flipped him off without turning around.

“Well, I see you bring out the best in Pidge,” Shiro laughed. “And I’m sorry if I interrupted. I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t have your number, but I knew where you live because of you know, last week and wow, this is weird of me to just show up isn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t have come over uninvited. I should go.”

“No,” Keith said, reaching out to wrap a hand around Shiro’s wrist. “Don’t go.”

“Alright,” Shiro said, conceding easily.

Pleasure bloomed in Keith’s chest and he did his best to hide his own surprise. He’d expected much more of a fight. He wondered if Shiro was always so agreeable or if it was because of Keith. He wanted to imagine it was the latter.

“Can I come in?” Shiro asked, smiling down at his wrist that was still held loosely in Keith’s grip.

Keith dropped it immediately, pulling his hands back and shoving them into his pockets. “Sorry. Yes. Yes, come in.”

Keith took a step back and Shiro took the two steps over the threshold to come inside, taking a moment to bend down and say hello to Kosmo, ruffling his fur playfully before turning his attention back on Keith.

“So did you need something?” Keith asked, curiosity getting the best of him. He couldn’t handle small talk and pretending he wasn’t dying to know exactly what had brought Shiro to his doorstep.

“Wow, you’re blunt aren’t you,” Shiro said looking a bit nervous.

“Sorry,” Keith apologized automatically, used to finding out almost immediately that he was too much for people.

“No, it’s nice. I like it.” Keith’s disbelief must’ve shown on his face because Shiro elaborated without being asked. “There’s so much bullshitting in grad school. Or life in general really. People pretending they know what they don’t, or having to network to have any chance of landing a job and being able to put my degree to work. People are always telling you what they think you want to hear, or expecting you to tell them the same. It’s nice to see someone say exactly what they think.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Keith said, shoving his right hands into his pocket and fidgeting with the loose strings near the hole in the bottom.

“I guess there’s no point in beating around the bush then.” Shiro let out a soft laugh, twiddling his thumbs in front of him. “I just wanted to come thank you in person for the coffee. That was really nice of you. You didn’t need to send me anything. You already paid me more per hour than I usually make posing nude for a roomful of gawking freshman in a room with insufficient heating. You didn’t need to send me a thank you gift for happily sitting in your art studio shirtless and drinking half your supply of coffee.”

“I don’t do things because I feel obligated,” Keith corrected. “I do things because I want to.”

Shiro seemed surprised. “Oh, well that’s—that’s really nice of you. Thank you, Keith.”

Keith swallowed, taken aback by the way it felt to hear his name on Shiro’s lips, or the surge of pleasure he felt being the one to be the cause of Shiro’s happiness. “So, did you like it? They’re the same single-source fair trade Ethiopian beans I use. I mean, it probably doesn’t taste quite the same in a regular coffee pot especially if you added a disgusting amount of flavored creamer,” Keith teased.

Shiro didn’t answer, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. Discomfort pooled in Keith’s chest. Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe Shiro was just too polite of a man and felt obligated to give his thanks for something he hadn’t wanted. Or maybe Shiro had liked the coffee but wasn’t sure how to let Keith down gently. It was entirely possible that Shiro was just a nice guy, the kind of guy who was charming and friendly to everyone he met. The more Keith thought about it as the silence stretched between them, the more it felt likely that he had entirely misread the dynamic between them.

Not that he’d sent Shiro the coffee with any strings attached. As much as he had wanted to see Shiro again, that had nothing to do with the fact that Keith had finangled Shiro’s address from Pidge to send him some of the coffee he’d enjoyed so much. He’d simply wanted to do something nice for the other man to make him smile even if he wasn’t around to see it.

Shiro smiled kindly, still looking awkward as he crossed his arms then almost immediately uncrossed them and shoved his hands into his pockets instead.

Fuck, definitely trying to let him down then.

“The coffee _smelled_ amazing,” Shiro offered.

Keith looked up in confusion. “Smelled? Did you do more than smell them?”

Shiro wrinkled his nose as he blew out a breath. He looked embarrassed. “They’re whole beans. I couldn’t do more than smell them.”

“Oh shit,” Keith exclaimed. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Shiro might not have a coffee grinder. He was so used to his own machine doing everything he hadn’t stopped to think about what type of coffee pot Shiro used or whether he would have any way to grind the whole beans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of that. You could bring the brings over here and use my grinder.”

Shiro pursed his lips and Keith wished he could kick himself. He’s trying to let you down, stop inviting him over you asshole he thought.

When Shiro didn’t immediately answer Keith knew he’d got all the answer he needed. Probably for the best he hadn’t asked for Shiro’s number from Pidge or begged him to come back for another modeling session already.

“I don’t have a coffee pot,” Shiro said, voice barely above a whisper. He was staring at the floor and looking like he wished it might swallow him whole.

“Wait, you said you love coffee. How the hell do you not have a coffee pot?”

Shiro shrugged, lifting his face to look at Keith. He looked a bit like a lost puppy, and Keith couldn’t decide if it was the most pathetic or most adorable thing he’d ever seen. Possibly a little bit of both.

“I can’t afford it,” Shiro confided. Keith immediately felt guilty for finding the look on his face pathetic or cute. He knew all too well what that felt like, even if it had been years since Keith had had to worry about where his next meal was coming from or whether or not he could afford his rent. He knew he was luckier than most artists and he never took his success for granted, but there were still times Keith was taken aback to realize other people who seemed to have it all were actually struggling. “I uh...usually just microwave water until it’s hot and add in as much instant coffee as I’ve rationed for the day and then add in enough flavored creamer that I can almost pretend what I’m drinking doesn’t taste like sludge. It’s warm and full of caffeine and it’s good enough, especially when it’s my sole breakfast.” He let out a hollow laugh that Keith didn’t return.

Something twanged in Keith’s chest. It was hard to imagine someone like Shiro who’d been so inordinately pleased by the coffee Keith made him yesterday, someone who so clearly loved coffee almost as much as Keith—albeit in his hedonistic sickly sweet flavored way—existing on microwaved instant coffee. It was not only depressing, it seemed cosmically unjust.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know what it’s like, and I wouldn’t have sent it if I’d known it would upset you.”

Shiro shook his head, an act that made the soft-looking wisps of white hair fall into his eyes. “No it's not like that. I just...it was so thoughtful of you, and I wanted to thank you but then I felt like a jerk because I can’t even drink the coffee and,” he trailed off, blowing out a long breath. “What twenty-nine-year-old can’t even afford a coffee pot.”

Shiro laughed, but it was self-deprecating in a way that didn’t seem to suit him.

“Do you have plans today?” Keith blurted out, slipping his left hand into his back pocket and letting his fingers glide over the worn leather of his wallet.

“I mean I’ve got a hot date later,” Shiro said, voice full of mirth.

“Oh that’s right, of course someone who looks like you has a date,” Keith mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pocket.

“Wow, I’m really fucking bad at this,” Shiro laughed. “My hot date is with a box of store-brand macaroni and cheese. It was a joke.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, earning him a bashful grin from Shiro. “Sorry. Matt, that’s Pidge’s brother, he always tells me the only award I’m ever going to win is for the world’s worst comedian. He says I tell dad jokes, whatever the hell that means.”

“No, no, you’re funny,” Keith lied. “Hilarious.”

“You’re as good of a liar as I am of a joke teller,” Shiro said with a wink.

Keith blinked before he broke out in laughter. “You’re right, that was a terrible fucking joke.”

“I tried.” Shiro shrugged his shoulders. “To answer your question before though, no. I mean I wasn’t entirely joking about the box of macaroni and cheese, I am really looking forward to that later. It’s my favorite food. But the hot date part? Not even close. To be honest, I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date. Between school and picking up an art modeling job when I can to pay the bills, my idea of a hot date is usually taking a nap. I’m afraid people aren’t chomping at the bit for a piece of that that.”

Keith found that hard to believe. He’d only had to meet Shiro once to see there was something special about him.

“I like sleeping,” Keith found himself saying, surprised at his own boldness.

The smile that spread across Shiro’s face was worth it. “Why did you ask?”

Keith’s eyes darted to his keys hanging on the hook by the door. “How do you feel about motorcycles. You’re not scared of them are you?”

Shiro’s eyebrows rose. “Scared? I’m not scared.”

“That’s good.” Keith grinned, moving to grab his leather jacket off the hook and pull it on.

He didn’t miss the soft inhale or the way Shiro’s eyes widened in appreciation. Fuck, but Keith loved this leather jacket. It was the first big purchase he’d made, well after adopting Kosmo. At the time it’d been wholly impractical for a struggling artist who could barely afford his rent to buy a leather jacket that cost more than two months’ rent. But every time Keith put it on he was reminded of how far he’d made it, and that he’d done it on his own, and he was glad he’d made the impulsive decision that cold day in February to buy himself something he wanted whether he needed it or not. Over the years the leather had become softer and worn in, fitting Keith like a second skin. Keith knew it looked as good on him as it felt, and he had to fight back his own smile as he purposely pressed the side of his body against Shiro’s to reach for his keys.

“So a little birdie once told me you like surprises. You up for it?” Keith asked.

“Yes,” Shiro answered without hesitation.

Fifteen minutes later they were roaring down the freeway. Keith felt a kind of contentment oozing out him. He’d always loved the way it felt to ride, to have his motorcycle rumbling between his legs. The only difference now was that Shiro’s broad chest was pressed firmly to his back—his arms wrapped around Keith’s waist tighter than was probably necessary, not that Keith minded—making the experience even better than usual.

Keith was pleased to find that Shiro was an easy person to ride with, his body still and radiating calmness. Almost instinctively he seemed to know to lean into the sharp turns along with Keith, following Keith’s lead without even being told. They wove in and out of traffic easily before pulling up to the curb in front of their destination.

Keith put his boots to the pavement, steadying the bike as he turned it off, kicking out the kickstand and removing his helmet. The one downside to his bike was the way the helmet usually made his hair look like he’d recently been in a tornado. Hoping Shiro wouldn’t notice, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hair tie, running his fingers through his hair and quickly tugging it into a messy bun as he felt the bike shift with Shiro’s movements behind him.

Keith turned to watch Shiro move to stand on the sidewalk.

“That was incredible,” Shiro said breathlessly once he’d removed his own helmet. His voice was rich with exhilaration, his grey eyes bright. Keith felt a surge of pride. He liked that Shiro enjoyed riding with him, but more than that he liked knowing he’d once again been the cause of the smile on his face.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Keith said, watching as Shiro reached up to touch his hair, lips thinning into a pout. The tuft of his hair that had been attractively swooped up in the front was now sticking straight up, and Keith was surprised that it was somehow cute on the other man.

“You’re good,” Keith assured him.

Shiro pulled his hand back from his hair as if he’d been unaware Keith had been watching him. “Thanks.”

Keith had never met a man who could pivot so easily between looking like he could split firewood with his bare hands for fun to a man who looked like he had no idea how to handle a single compliment. Everything about Shiro was a contradiction, and Keith ached to learn more. He wanted to trace every line of his body on his paper, wanted to cover canvases with his shy smile and fill the room with sketches of his statuesque figure. Something about being near Shiro made Keith’s hands itch to paint or draw, anything really in a futile attempt to create something that might compare to the beauty of the man standing before him.

“You ready to go inside?” Keith asked, nodding his head to the storefront behind them.

Shiro turned around to look behind him then, turned back to Keith. “You have some shopping to do?”

Keith kept his facial expression neutral as he stepped onto the sidewalk beside Shiro, tiling his head up to make eye contact. “You could say that.”

Shiro nodded, as if being dragged on a surprise shopping trip for someone else was agreeable. Keith fell into step beside Shiro as they made their way into the small storefront. It was packed to the brink with kitchen supplies. Rows and rows of quirky cups lined the left wall, and the right was filled with everything from small appliances to decorated measuring cups and dish towels, but Keith bypassed it all, leading Shiro to the very back of the store. The back wall was lined with nothing but coffee pots.

“Drink so much coffee you need a second machine?” Shiro teased as they stopped in front of a machine that was similar to Keith’s, though smaller with a fewer pull options for the espresso shots.

“Let’s pretend we’re buying you one. Which one do you like?”

“Oh, window shopping. My mom used to drag me along to do this when I was a kid. She’d take me to department stores to sit on all the sofas we were never going to buy because we couldn’t afford them.” Instead of looking depressed by the memory he seemed excited, clasping his hands behind his back as his eyes scanned the row of coffee machines in front of them. “Let’s see, this one is nice,” he said, pointing to the most basic machine in the store. It was a six-cup brewer that did nothing more than funnel hot water over ground coffee.

“Too simple. Think bigger.”

Shiro laughed, moving sideways towards the machine beside it that both ground the coffee and brewed it, one eyebrow raised as if to ask _is this better?_

Keith hummed noncommitally, pointing to one two spots over from the one Shiro was looking at. “What do you think of that one?”

Shiro looked a bit bewildered but played along. “Looks nice.” He walked over to examine the machine, reading the specs on the front as if truly considering the options. Unlike Keith’s stainless steel machine, this one was bright red. “I think I like the one at your house better, though. This one looks like it only makes one cup size. Imagine not being able to decide if you want to be caffeinated enough to survive the day or caffeinated enough to fly.”

“Fly huh?” Keith asked, unable to take his eyes off Shiro.

Shiro nodded, though he didn’t look away from the machine. “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid. You know how it is, when you’re little you think you can be anything.”

“Yeah,” Keith answered, though it was anything but the truth. As a child he’d been sure, based on the way all the adults in his life treated him, that he would never be anything. It wasn’t until he were an adult on his own that he’d realized all those people had been projecting their own insecurities and fears of failure onto him, and that he could be anything he wanted. He couldn’t help but wonder who had encouraged Shiro, and then who had broken his spirit. “You know you could still be anything,” Keith offered. He’d always hated the idea that growing up somehow meant your dreams were supposed to become more practical.

Shiro turned to look at Keith as if appraising him before lifting up his prosthetic and twisting it back and forth with a wry grin. “NASA disagrees with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, wondering if he were doomed to stick his foot in his mouth.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I accepted that I was flawed a long time ago.”

“You know what, fuck NASA,” Keith said vehmentantly, earning them a sideways look from an employee currently stocking reusable coffee filters a few feet down, and a surprised smile from Shiro. Keith took two steps to the right to stand in front of a much bigger coffee machine, an upgraded model that was much closer to his own machine, desperate to change the subject. “What about this one?”

Shiro lifted one eyebrow in question but when Keith didn’t say anything he shook his head with a soft laugh and leaned down to read the sticker on the front of the machine and whistled. “Well shit. What doesn’t this machine do?”

“So you like it then?” Keith asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Shiro nodded, dragging his finger down the paper near the display that listed all the functions. “Oh my god, you can even add syrups to get flavored coffees.”

Keith didn’t see what was so exciting about that, both because he was of the opinion that flavored coffee was a sin and because it was very easy to pour in syrup by hand, but he wasn’t about to say either of those things out loud. Not with the way Shiro’s eyes lit up.

“So you’d want one for yourself?”

“Of course I would, who wouldn’t. Man, it’s even got a timer. Can you imagine being able to set the timer and wake up to coffee like this?”

Keith licked his lips. “What if you didn’t need to do more than imagine it?”

Shiro’s eyebrows narrowed, and he turned his curious gaze on Keith. “I don’t think I follow.”

“What if someone wanted to buy you this.” Keith shoved his hand into his pocket, fiddling with the hole again.

“In my dreams maybe. Besides, I don’t have a birthday this year so too bad, so sad.” At Keith's blank look Shiro continued. “Sorry, my birthday is on February 29th. My grandpa used to always tease me that was my birthday was cancelled and I didn’t get any gifts. It wasn’t true, of course they never forgot my birthday, but on the years it actually fell on the calendar they did something extra special. But I’m pretty sure I could save up for the next few years until we actually get a leap year and I still couldn’t afford this machine.”

“I can. Afford it I mean.”

“That’s nice,” Shiro said, still apparently not cottoning on to Keith’s meaning.

Keith realized then that apparently the direct approach was the only one to use here. “I want to buy this machine. _For you._ For you to take home and use every day.”

Shiro’s mouth fell open, as he turned his gaze firmly on Keith and stared.

“You can say no,” Keith said, unwilling to make him uncomfortable. “You can say no, and I won’t bother you again. But I really hope you don’t. Say no, that is.”

“Why?” Shiro asked.

“Why what?” Keith asked.

“Why do you want to buy me a five thousand dollar coffee machine? I mean, fuck—I should say no. Who accepts a gift like this? Especially from someone they barely know. It would be ridiculous to accept.”

Keith took one step closer, until they were only inches apart. Shiro tilted his head down to look at Keith, the rise and fall of his chest steady.

“You don’t want to say no though, do you? You’d like to have this. And I want you to have it. Let me buy it for you.” Shiro seemed to seriously be considering it, which was honestly more than Keith had hoped for. He’d known the idea was impulsive and a long shot and had the potential to go very wrong if Shiro were offended or weirded out. But Shiro didn’t seem any of those things. “Please,” Keith said, and that was the moment he knew he’d won.

“Alright,” Shiro whispered. “Shit what the fuck. Alright. Thank you.”

Keith beamed, the fluttering in his chest so erratic it was as if he could barely breathe when Shiro bit his lip and smiled shyly at him.

“You’ve got to let me do something for you, though. I mean I can’t think of anything I could possibly do that would come anywhere close to thanking you properly for this, but—”

“Model for me one more time,” Keith interrupted, knowing the only thing he wanted from Shiro was to see him again. “Let me draw you. Let me paint you.”

This time Shiro’s smile was anything but shy. “Alright.”

 

****

***~*~*~**

“When you said you wanted to draw me outside I was picturing your backyard. Or maybe even the park downtown. You know the nice one with the walking trail through the trees and that huge duck pond and the gazebo. I was not picturing _this_ ,” Shiro said, rucking up the backpack higher as he eyed the mountain trail in front of them. Kosmo barked at Keith’s side, his head darting back and forth comically fast between Keith and Shiro.

“I did tell you to dress for a workout,” Keith said, trying not to laugh. For someone who looked like he spent a good portion of his time at a gym, Shiro looked surprisingly uncertain about hiking.

“To be honest I thought you just wanted me to dress that way for the art. I didn’t think you were serious. I didn’t know you meant this.” Shiro gestured with his prosthetic to the narrow and rocky trail in front of them.

Truthfully Keith hadn’t meant this either when he’d suggested being able to draw Shiro outdoors. But then he’d got the idea in his head two days ago that Shiro would look beautiful sprawled out on a blanket in the pine trees, and he’d been unable to get the vision out of his head.

Of course he’d been convinced his idea was brilliant the moment Shiro had shown up at his house wearing what Keith could only assume was Shiro’s idea of a hiking outfit. It consisted of a pair of skin-tight charcoal grey leggings and some short and loose black running shorts over them. On top he wore a simple black cotton t-shirt that stretched across his chest and showed off every muscle in his stomach and back. And once again his ankles were on prime display, the low-rise socks he wore barely peeking out of his running shoes and leaving a small sliver of skin and the hint of a curved ankle bone on display.

Keith fidgeted with the straps on his own backpack. “Trust me, this hike is well worth it. And I know it looks a bit intense, but it’s actually not a difficult climb once you get through the entrance. Besides, it’s pretty isolated so once we get to the top we won’t be interrupted.”

Shiro’s cheeks flushed, and Keith blanched at the possible implications of his words. “I mean for drawing. Interrupted for _drawing_. I don’t like distractions. They ruin my focus and once that happens it usually takes me forever to get back into the zone to finish what I’m working on. It’s why I usually do all my art in my studio at home.”

“Why out here then?” Shiro asked, “if your studio is easier for you, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind.” Keith kept his eyes on the trail as they began the rocky ascent. Kosmo darted off a few feet ahead of them, familiar with where they were heading. “I...I’ve been in a bit of an art block recently to be honest. My agent has been having a conniption daily about the lack of new art from me. It’s why Pidge suggested I hire a live art model to shake things up. I’d never done that before.”

“Really?” Shiro interrupted, and even without looking at his face Keith registered the surprise in his voice. “I thought that was something all art students did to get their degree. Not that I know much about art. Usually I just stand there and pray I don’t get a muscle cramp or have to pee.”

“I mean they probably do,” Keith shrugged even though Shiro didn’t seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching his feet as he stepped over the uneven trail before him. “But I don’t have an art degree. Or any degree actually,” he confessed, suddenly unsure what someone as smart as Shiro might think of that. “I’m self-taught.”

“ _Wow_.”

“Wow, that’s amazing, or wow, what wasted potential?” Keith asked, unsure if he actually wanted the answer. He dared a quick glance at Shiro to gauge his reaction, but Shiro was still staring at his feet as he walked, his lips thinned in an adorable pout as he stumbled as if the rocks themselves had done him wrong. Keith reached out to steady him, wondering if this were his first time hiking.

“Wow, you’re incredible,” Shiro answered. For once Keith didn’t think to question if someone was lying to him. There was something undeniably earnest about Shiro. Keith had never been one to trust many people, especially not right off the bat. Aside from Pidge that was. And apparently now Shiro.

“School just wasn’t for me. I never was good at doing what other people told me,” Keith offered, surprised at his desire to share bits of himself with Shiro without being asked. The feeling was entirely new, and Keith wasn’t sure if he wanted to relish in it or run away from it.

“I get that.” At Keith’s noise of disbelief Shiro huffed out a laugh. “I mean it. I was never anti-school or anti-authority, but I definitely went through a phase as a teenager where I was just angry at the world. I felt like it’d hurt me and I didn’t want to listen to anyone, even the people who were trying to help me. It took me a long time to realize that I could do what other people wanted me to do and not sacrifice the little bit of autonomy I felt like I had left.”

“You sure you’re not a psych major?” Keith queried, his shoulder bumping against Shiro’s when the path narrowed.

“Oh shit, no. _No_. I’ve just had enough time to myself to do a lot of self-reflection. There’s not much to do when you’re standing still with people drawing your dick for three hours and you can’t even move to scratch your nose, or your balls. The only thing you can do is think.”

“I’m not sure I could handle that much quiet time inside my own head,” Keith said, sidestepping the large root in the middle of the trail. He held out a hand for Shiro, even though he probably didn’t need the help, but Shiro took the offered hand anyway. The tips of his ears turned pink. He took long seconds staring at their hands before he released it.

“You spend hours and hours alone painting. What do you think about when you paint then?” Shiro asked, then almost immediately balked. “That was a really personal question, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I don’t mind,” Keith assured him. He took few extra quick steps to get in front of Shiro, his long legs making it easy for him to beat Shiro’s stride despite his shorter stature so that he could pull back the large tree branch blocking the trail.

“I could’ve done that,” Shiro said, “but thank you.”

“I’m stronger than I look, remember,” Keith said with a wink, though to his surprise Shiro reached over him and easily held back the entire branch with just one hand so that Keith could move safely to the side of the trail beside Shiro. “And you are exactly as strong as you look.”

Shiro grinned. “Trust me, I remember how strong you are.”

Keith’s stomach swooped at the realization that Shiro was flirting with him. “I’ll make sure you never forget.”

Shiro licked his lips, his steps faltering before he stopped to stand in front of Keith. “I don’t think I could forget a single thing about you, even if I tried.”

Keith’s face flushed with warmth, and he took two steps closer, reaching out his hand to lay it atop Shiro’s chest. He could feel the raised design of the chain around Shiro’s neck, now hidden beneath his t-shirt. Shiro’s heart was beating hard and steady beneath his palm, his head slowly lowering. Keith was mesmerized by the line of Shiro’s beautiful lips moving towards his, his own mouth parting in anticipation.

Until a series of clipped barks started him. Keith jumped back to see Kosmo bounding down the trail out of nowhere, a mud-covered stick in his mouth and his tail wagging happily before he walked to Shiro and dropped the stick on his shoes, clumps of mud dropping onto the pale white skin of his ankles.

Keith’s frustration and disappointment mingled until he couldn’t tell the difference, but the feelings were instantly diminished at the sight before him. Shiro wasn’t frowning at his now muddy shoes or kicking away the muck-covered stick on his feet. Instead, Shiro was bending down down to ruffle Kosmo’s now-filthy fur—his thighs thickening in the squat as Kosmo moved between his spread legs to lap up the attention.

“Are you a good boy.” Shiro said, and Kosmo’s tail wagged back and forth so hard Keith thought it was at danger of falling off. “That’s good, Kosmo. You found me the best stick didn’t you, buddy?”

Kosmo’s tail smacked into Keith’s knees as he practically bounced on the balls of his feet.

“You’re a giant softie aren’t you,” Keith said, quite certain that Shiro would have Kosmo eating out of his very hand in days at this rate. Some grumpy dog he was turning out to be. Hw wondered if maybe this was what Kosmo had been like as a puppy, long before Keith had adopted, before the world and his previous owners had given up on him. It made Keith’s chest ache with regret for Kosmo’s lost youth and with fondness for Shiro. He thought then even if he never learned another thing about Shiro, he’d know for certain from the way he treated Kosmo that he was a good man.

“I mean, I’m not saying that. But I’m not not saying it,” Shiro answered, rising back up. There was a fleck of mud on the side of his face and his eyes were alight were amusement, and Keith had never seen a man so attractive he wanted to cry.

“We should really get to the top,” Keith blurted out, voice cracking a bit but unable to handle the swell of affection. It was absolutely ridiculous the way he felt around Shiro—happy in a way that felt intoxicating—or how much he wanted to do anything that might make Shiro the same way he was making Keith feel.

“Oh right, of course. We don’t want to miss the lighting for your drawing,” Shiro said, an unreadable expression flickering across his face before he turned his back on Keith to face the top of the mountain. “I’ll take the front since the trail is narrowing.”

Keith’s face fell, and he wished he could do something to get that moment back as Shiro began to climb. Keith’s sole consolation as they made their way to the top was that he now had an exceptionally good view of Shiro from behind—the flex of his strong calves and the whoosh of his shorts framing his more-than-satisfactory assets. Several quiet minutes later Shiro turned and smirked at him over his shoulder, and Keith had the sudden suspicion that Shiro’s completely impractical running outfit might have not been as accidental as he’d previously claimed.

It was on the tip of Keith’s tongue to tease him about it when they rounded a corner and came out onto the bluff. It’d barely changed since the last time Keith had been there a few months prior. There was a small wooden fence blocking the edge of the cliff, an expansive clearing covered in grass and even a few wildflowers and all along them on either side were towering pine trees that cast the grassy glen in shade and filled the air with the scent of pine.

“Whoa, you weren’t kidding,” Shiro said, moving a few feet forward to stand in the center of the clearing. He tilted his head back to stare up at the canopy of trees before closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath. When he tipped his head back down to look at Keith he was smiling. “So where should sit? Too bad we didn’t bring a blanket.”

Keith grinned. “I might’ve brought a blanket.”

“I thought you said my bag was full of art supplies,” Shiro said, reaching back to pat the backpack he was wearing, courtesy of Keith.

“Yours is full of my art stuff. Mine on the other hand has a few surprises.”

Shiro looked at him curiously, tilting his head to the side as he put his palm flat on his stomach. “One of those surprises wouldn’t happen to be a snack would it? I think we worked up an appetite.”

Keith refrained from mentioning that a brisk twenty minute hike barely constituted as exercise, let alone enough to need a supplemental meal, but then again he thought perhaps someone with Shiro’s muscle mass probably needed to eat often.

Instead of answering, Keith moved into the shade of the largest tree, dropping down to his knees and ignoring the dampness that soaked his pants. He pulled off the backpack, dropping it down in front of him and unzipping it, aware of Shiro moving across the grass to stand beside him.

“Lay this out,” Keith instructed, passing Shiro a blanket and exceptionally pleased with himself for having the forethought to go to the store the day before and buy an actual picnic blanket that was backed with some sort of waterproof material on one side and a warm red and blank buffalo checked flannel on the other side.

“Good thinking,” Shiro said, the soft pads of his fingertips briefly skimming across Keith’s knuckles as as he took the blanket.

Keith paused in his digging around to watch Shiro carefully lay out the blanket, pulling out each corner before dropping down onto it with a heavy sigh. “Please tell me there’s a snack. Maybe some trail mix or jerky or even a gross protein bar. Anything,” Shiro said, pulling off his own backpack and carefully setting it down in the grass.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any jerky or trail mix,” Keith replied.

Shiro’s face fell, but he quickly wiped away the look of disappoint. “That’s alright. I can eat later when you’re done sketching. At least I know when I get home I can have a really fucking good cup of coffee.”

“I have something besides snacks,” Keith said, pulling out the carefully wrapped bag of food he’d brought.

“Wait, did you bring a picnic?” Shiro asked, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his long arms around them as he tried to see what Keith had. Kosmo popped his head up from the hole he was digging and trotted over at the sound of the crinkling bag. Keith glanced between Shiro and Kosmo, who were both watching him hopefully, and wondered when he’d developed a weakness for people or dogs who looked like they could kill you but were actually big softies. “Don’t worry I’ve got something for you too, Kosmo.”

Kosmo let out a high-pitched whine of excitement, running over and pressing his wet, dirt-caked nose into Keith’s knee before licking his knee through the hole in his pants. Keith laughed, rubbing the spot behind Kosmo’s ear that always made him relax, before pulling out a bone and tossing it onto the corner of the blanket. Fast as a panther Kosmo snatched the bone and took off to the far end of the clearing, curling up in the sun

“Sort of,” Keith answered Shiro’s earlier question, digging around the bottom of the backpack until he found the small cooler bag. A moment later he was sitting beside Shiro, food clutched in his hands, that he set down in front of them.

Keith grabbed for the cooler bag first, pulling out two cans of chilled soda before reaching for the paper bag. Hyperaware of Shiro’s eyes on him, he unrolled the top of the folded bag and pulled out several plastic containers of food that, almost an hour after picking them up from the restaurant on his way to meet Shiro, were still warm thanks to Pidge’s suggestion to use hand warmers to keep the food hot until they’d reached the top of the mountain.

“Wait, Keith,” Shiro said, reaching for one of the containers and lifting it to the read the fancy white lettering on the side thatread Coran’s Cocina. “Keith, is this from that restaurant we saw when you bought me the coffee machine last week?”

It took all of Keith’s self-control not to smile with satisfaction. “If you mean the restaurant you refused to let me take you to dinner to because you’d insisted I’d spent too much money on you already, which just so happens to be in your exact words ‘ _The source of the world’s best bowl of macaroni and cheese, or so says the_ Paladin Prophet, _’_ then yes it is from there.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been dying to try the truffle mac and cheese,” Shiro said, staring at the container in his hands as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “The review in the paper said it’s got four kinds of imported cheeses, organic pasta, _and_ truffles.”

Keith couldn’t hold back his smile any longer, pleasure building in his chest. “Twelve weeks since the day the restaurant opened, and one of classmates told you her uncle had opened what was unofficially being called the restaurant with the world's best macaroni and cheese.”

Shiro ducked his head in what looked like embarrassment, setting the container down on the blanket. “Oh, did I mention that?”

Keith reached out to pick up the mac and cheese and push it back into Shiro’s hands. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice that afternoon. It was sweet.”

Sweet barely covered it. Shiro had been full of enthusiasm as they’d left the store, his coffee maker already purchased and set to be delivered to Shiro’s apartment the next day. He’d been stumbling over his third thank you when he’d spotted Coran’s Cocina across the street and launched into a speech about their supposed to die for mac and cheese. Keith had done his best to get Shiro to let him take them there for dinner, but he’d shaken his head and mumbled that after the coffee machine he couldn’t possible let Keith spend fifty bucks on a single bowl of macaroni and cheese.

Of course that hadn’t stopped Keith from stopping by the restaurant the next day to grab a menu, or going out of his way to order every variety of macaroni and cheese on their menu to pack for the hike.

Shiro didn’t look like he believed Keith, a slight tension visible in the clenched his jaw, so Keith snatched a fork from the bag and held it out for Shiro enticingly. “Come on mac and cheese king, tell me if this stuff is worth the hype.”

“You know you didn’t have to do this,” Shiro said, taking the fork before popping off the plastic lid and letting out a puff of white hot steam. Man, those hand warmers really kept things hot. He definitely needed to thank Pidge later.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I only do things I want.”

“And you just coincidentally wanted to have two hundred dollars worth of gourmet macaroni and cheese on a mountaintop?” Shiro asked, digging his fork into the pasta. “God, this smells good,” he added, more to himself than to Keith.

“No,” Keith answered. Shiro’s head popped up, the forkful of macaroni and cheese just passing by his lips as he stared at Keith. “I wanted _you_ to have two hundred dollars worth of mac and cheese on the top of a mountain. So is it good?”

Shiro chewed slowly, his entire body physically relaxing as he swallowed. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

Keith felt his own face break out into a smile. “Good.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Shiro admitted, twirling his fork in the macaroni and cheese before taking another bite. Keith waited, recognizing Shiro’s need for a moment to think. When he swallowed, he turned his eyes toKeith. “I mean thank you would be the first thing. Again. I feel like I’m saying that a lot lately, but I mean it. You’ve been unnecessarily nice to me.”

 _That’s not possible_ , Keith thought, but he stayed quiet, too afraid to interrupt Shiro’s train of thought.

“I’m not used to people doing things like this for me. And I don’t just mean monetarily though shit knows, that’s huge too. I couldn’t have afforded any of this. But more than that it’s—” he paused, taking another bite. “Sorry, this is really good,” he laughed, ducking his head as if unable to meet Keith’s eyes. “I’ve been doing things on my own for a long time. And I’m not used to people doing things like this for me. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

“Why?” Keith asked, desperately wishing Shiro would look at him again.

Shiro blew out a breath, dropping the fork into his food and using his right hand to push the hair off his forehead. “Because I tell you things I like, and you just give them to me. We don’t live in a fantasy world where I just get the things I want.”

“What if it wasn’t. A fantasy I mean. What if if you kept telling me things you wanted and I kept buying them for you?” Keith asked, surprised at the lightness he felt finally being able to voice the thought that had been consuming him all week.

“Why?” Shiro asked, voice guileless.

“To make you happy.” Keith answered, as if it were obvious.

Shiro’s eyes flashed with surprise, his chest rising with his rapid intake of breath.

“That’s—” but whatever it was was he was about to say was cut off by the untimely arrival of Kosmo once again as he barreled in between them onto the blanket—half-chewed, slobber-covered bone dangling from his mouth—as he plopped down into Keith’s lap. He dropped the bone near Shiro’s half-eaten macaroni and cheese and whined. When neither of them moved, he whined again, pushing the bone closer to Shiro with his nose before rolling over onto his back.

Keith immediately began to rub Kosmo’s belly, recognizing the jealousy.

“I think maybe someone else wanted a little attention too,” Shiro said with a soft laugh, reaching out to rub Kosmo’s belly. Kosmo’s tongue fell out as he panted, kicking his legs in happiness.

“I probably shouldn’t have brought him if I wanted to get any drawing done today, but I didn’t have the heart to leave him home alone,” Keith confessed, letting his fingers slowly move to slide beneath Shiro’s larger ones.

“Now who’s the softie,” Shiro teased, letting his palm settle atop Keith’s—a firm but gentle weight. “Besides maybe it’s for the best anyway.”

“Oh yeah and why is that?” Keith asked.

“Because, now we get to plan a next time.”

Keith smiled. “ _Next time_.”

****

**~*~*~***

“Let me get this straight,” Pidge said, crossing her legs beneath her on the couch and eyeing Keith with an unnerving severity. “You took Shiro to your favorite hiking spot. The one you told me is your favorite place on earth because it reminds you of the camping trips your dad took you on as a child. The one you always go to alone. The one you once said you’d never want to go to with anyone besides Kosmo because and I quote ‘ _People suck but dogs are cool’.”_

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did. It was the fifth of March, and you were wearing that hideous red sweatshirt you’re so attached to and—”

“Fine,” he interrupted, holding up his hands in defeat. Sometimes he really hated that Pidge had an eidetic memory and remembered every single thing that ever happened. Sometimes it came in handy, like the few times he and Pidge had teamed up at the local bar for a quiz night, and Pidge’s ability to remember every Hufflepuff in the Harry Potter books had earned them a free basket of spicy wings and a pitcher of beer. The rest of the time it sort of blew. Especially when she used it to call him on his bullshit.

“As I was saying. Keith, the world's biggest antisocial pain in the ass, took Shiro, the world’s biggest ball of sunshine, to his happy place.”

Keith rubbed his cheek. “I mean, when you say it like that it sounds like a really big deal.”

Pidge clicked her tongue. “Oh, I can make it sound like an even bigger deal.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Pidge.”

She clearly disagreed. “You also remembered him mentioning his favorite food and went to the restaurant he’s been dying to go to but can’t afford and ordered every single version of macaroni and cheese on the menu. Then you figured out how to keep it warm on your romantic ascent to a picturesque mountain top.”

“It really wasn’t a romantic ascent. I don’t think he’d ever been hiking,” Keith said, recalling the way Shiro’s eyebrows had furrowed in concentration as he’d stared at his feet. It was so cute Keith was almost offended.

“That,” she said said dramatically, “is not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?” he asked, being purposely obtuse and trying not to laugh at the groan of frustration it earned him.

“The point is you like him! I’ve never seen you like anyone!” She threw her arms in the air.

“I’ve been on dates. I’ve had sex! You even helped me get that one guy’s number at the bar a few months ago.”

“Of course I’ve seen you date and have unfilling casual sex that leaves you staring morosely into your cappuccino the next morning as if you can drown your regret in enough shots of espresso if you try hard enough. That is not the same thing, and you know it.”

“I don’t do that,” he balked, his stomach flipping uncomfortably. Fuck, but she was observant.

“Yes, you do. You try to go on dates because as much as you claim to not want a relationship, you do. And then when that doesn't work you resort to a one-night stand because you think you can just have sex and have that be enough, but it never is. It never is, because you don’t have a casual bone in your body. I know you, Keith. Every single thing you do you do all the way. You weren’t made for casual dating or sex. When you do something you give it your all, which is why you find people so exhausting, because other people don’t do that and you can’t handle the polite bullshit lies most people tell. You want something _real_.”

“I think maybe you’ve been reading too many psychology books,” Keith said, picking the threads near his knee where his jeans had recently split.

“You know I love you, right?” Pidge said, voice unexpectedly gentle.

“I love you too, Pidge,” Keith admitted, still not looking up from his knee. He didn’t know what he might see on Pidge’s face, wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with it. Every single thing she’d said was true. The moment the words left her mouth he’d felt a lightbulb click on. As much as he wanted to deny it all, the truth was he’d always been searching for something more. It was why he painted, why he adopted Kosmo, and why he still went out to clubs every couple months despite doing exactly what Pidge said and regretting it the next morning every single time.

“Right, so because I love you I say this with love. You’re an idiot.”

Keith threw his head up. “Excuse me?!”

Pidge nodded. “You heard me. You’re an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Because you had Shiro alone on a mountain top. With macaroni and cheese! I’ve seen the way he devours it when my mom makes it, and it’s like he turns into an overgrown puppy. He’s so easy to please it’s ridiculous. I have never seen a person who liked pasta more than Shiro. Anyway, you had him alone on a mountain top, and then you didn’t tell him you liked him!”

“I mean, I told him I liked buying him things. I told him I wanted him to be happy! I might as well have fucking said I love you,” Keith blurted out.

Pidge’s face softened. “You really like him don’t you? Like _really_ like him. And not just in the ‘I want to draw his pretty face all the time,’” she said with knowing glance at Keith’s sketchbook that was open on the coffee table to the unfinished sketch of Shiro eating mac and cheese he’d started just before Pidge came over.

“Yeah,” Keith breathed. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“I know you, okay, so I know what telling him those things meant, because I know that you’re the type of person to lavish the people you care about with gifts, especially expensive ones.”

“I do not,” he objected.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “You had a video game flown in on a red-eye from Japan for me for my birthday last year the day it was released because it wouldn’t be available to purchase here for another two weeks.”

“You wanted it,” Keith mumbled.

“I did. And you knew that. Also, can we just mention that Kosmo has goose feather beds in every room of the house. Every room, Keith! There are nine dog beds in this house and you have one dog!”

“I used to go and visit him at the shelter, before I thought I’d ever have the money to adopt him. He was always curled up on the cold, wet cement floor just pressing his nose through the chain metal fence, and he looked so fucking sad. He gets that same lost look in his eyes when he gets cold. He deserves all the beds,” Keith said defensively.

As if aware he was being talked about, Kosmo lifted his head from his dog bed and peered at Keith for a few seconds before realizing nothing exciting was happening and shoving his nose back under his stuffed hippo and closing his eyes.

“Keith, I’m not judging you. I’m not saying you shouldn't do the things you do. What I’m saying is that the things you do, those grand gestures, are your way of showing the ones you love that you care. It’s nice, really nice. But Shiro doesn’t know you the way I do. He likes you, I know he does, and I shouldn’t tell you this because Matt and I made a promise once to never divulge the things we tell each other to someone else. He said it was a sibling bond of eternity or some bullshit. He’s so sappy. But he told me Shiro really likes you, and he isn’t sure you feel the same.”

“How the hell could he not be sure?” Keith yelled.

“It’s not my place to tell you Shiro’s history, or the things that make him who he is. But for all he seems like he doesn’t have a care in the world, there’s a lot of darkness he’s spent years pushing aside. He’s the first one to encourage someone else, and the last person to believe in himself.”

“What are you saying, Pidge?”

“I’m saying that as difficult as it might be for you to believe, Shiro has a hard time accepting people care about him. Maybe just as hard of a time as you. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t realize how well you two would get along a long time ago. You’re both stubborn fuckers who are emotionally constipated.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended right now or thanking you.”

“Thanking me. Definitely,” Pidge assured him. “Listen, I’m just saying that if you want Shiro to know something, you just need to tell. In very plain terms. For someone who is so smart he can be incredibly oblivious sometimes and bad at picking up hints.”

“Do you seriously expect me to just tell him I like him?”

“I mean you could do that or just continue to spend money on him like some sort of sugar daddy.”

“I’m not a sugar daddy,” Keith protested. I don’t fit the profile.” Not that Keith had ever spent much time contemplating what made someone a sugar daddy, but from his limited knowledge that consisted of watching a few shitty porno movies as a teenager, he was pretty sure you needed to be older and bigger than he was. And possibly have a moustache or a beard. He didn’t think being a twenty-four-year-old artsy loner counted even if he had the money. He was lacking every other thing that would’ve put him in a position of power.

“What did you do the first time you met him?” Pidge demanded, startling his thoughts. Her eyes flashed, and Keith knew that whatever was coming probably wasn’t going to be good.

“I drew him,” he answered blandly, folding his hands in his lap.

“You barely drew him. You showed me your sketches, remember? He was here two hours and all you drew were his eyes twelve times.”

Keith cleared his throat, twiddling his thumbs. “He has nice eyes.”

“That’s not the point. What I’m talking about is the fact that despite promising to pay thirty dollars an hour for an art model, I know you paid him sixty dollars an hour.” Keith’s eyes darted up. He hadn’t told Pidge that. “And a fifty dollar tip you hid in his pocket so he couldn’t refuse it.”

Keith rubbed his hand on his rapidly warming cheeks. He didn’t bother asking how Pidge knew that, since the only person Pidge talked to regularly beside Keith was her brother, and apparently Shiro told Matt as much as Keith told Pidge.

Pidge didn’t seem even close to being done.

“Then you sent him coffee that cost more per pound than he spends on coffee in an entire month.” Keith opened his mouth but was silenced by a single look from Pidge. “Then instead of just apologizing or even taking him to Target to buy a fucking Mr. Coffee or even a Keurig and one of those damn eco-friendly reusable K-cups, you take him to a fancy independent store and drop five grand on a fucking coffee machine.”

“It’s really good coffee,” Keith tried, but Pidge was on a roll didn’t acknowledge his interruption.

“Then you spend two hundred dollars to lug gourmet macaroni and cheese to the top of a mountain. Next thing you’re gonna tell me you’re buying him a new wardrobe or...or I dunno, lingerie for god's sake. This is definitely verging into sugar daddy territory.”

Keith swallowed, a flash of Shiro’s broad chest and strong thighs in some kind of delicate lingerie. _Shit_. That was a mental image Keith did not need right now. Except now that it was in his head all he could think about was some kind of silk or lace against the nearly inhuman perfection of Shiro’s muscles. He tried to imagine tracing his paint across the paper with Shiro spread out before him in something like that, and felt his dick twitch with interest.

“I’m not buying him lingerie,” Keith coughed, pulling the nearest sofa cushion into his lap.

“Oh my god no. No!” Pidge yelled.

“What?” Keith asked innocently.

“You’re picturing him in lingerie now. You know you are. My god, I have so much power. I need to be more careful about what I say.”

“I mean—” but he was cut off by the loud _ding dong_ of the doorbell. Thankfully Kosmo didn’t stir, slumbering loudly in the corner.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Keith shook his head, and Pidge learned forward to snatch Keith’s phone off the coffee table, swiping it open and tapping the app to check the security cameras. “Well, well, well,” she sing-songed, turning the phone to show Keith. The large screen of his phone was taken up by Shiro, rocking on his heels and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Oh,” Keith said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Okay, this is my cue to leave. I’m going out the back door this time so we don’t have an awkward repeat of me trying to sneak out the front door while you two make eyes at each other.”

“You don’t have to leave, Pidge,” Keith insisted, the pillow falling to the floor as he rose.

“It’s cool, dude. I’ll call you later,” she said, snatching her own phone off the table and shoving it into her pocket. “Good luck, daddy!”

Pidge was already walking through the kitchen, her back to Keith, but he flipped her off anyway.

Realizing he was taking too long, Keith turned on his heels and practically ran the twenty feet to the front door, not wanting to risk Shiro ringing the doorbell again and possibly waking up Kosmo.

He yanked the door open, chest fluttering with butterflies, a sensation that only worsened when he saw Shiro standing on his doorstep. He was dressed in another pair of sweats, a skintight white henley shirt on top. The necklace he always wore was for once dangling on the outside of his henley instead of under it and the gold rings hanging off the chain glittered in the midday sun. Nothing was as blinding as the smile that spread across Shiro’s face when he laid eyes on Keith, which made Keith’s chest swell with pride.

“Hi,” Shiro breathed.

“Hey. It’s good to see you,” Keith said.

Shiro’s eyes flashed with happiness. “I’m glad you said that. I know I could’ve just called, but—”

“No, I’m glad you came over,” Keith assured him. “Besides unless it’s texting I pretty much hate the phone. I mean if you called me I’d have been happy, but...” Keith exhaled, wondering when his mouth would stop rambling, “...but I’m glad you came.”

“Me too, Keith.”

Keith jumped back when he realized they were still standing on his doorstep. “Come inside.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said, angling his body sideways to slip into the house. Though there was plenty of room, his chest brushed up against Keith’s shoulder as he moved into the entryway, and Keith had to fight back the urge to grab ahold of Shiro’s body and pull him even closer. His own body sagged with disappointment when Shiro took two more steps inside, no longer touching Keith.

Keith took a moment to appreciate the way Shiro looked in his home, comfortable and at ease, almost as if he belonged there. Normally when someone visited Keith he mentally counted down the minutes until they would leave, but he found the urge to ask Shiro to stay nearly overwhelming.

“What did you come over for?” Keith asked.

Shiro’s tongue darted out to swipe along the his bottom lip, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. “I uh, that is…” he swallowed loudly, taking one more step closer to Keith. “I wanted to see if you needed me to do any more modeling.”

“Art modeling?” Keith echoed.

Shiro nodded, and Keith’s eyes were riveted to the high arch of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. He wanted to trace the lines of Shiro’s face with his fingers—with his mouth—until he could paint Shiro with his eyes closed. Shiro was beautiful, and fuck but Keith’s fingers twitched with the desire to run and grab his pencils or a brush to paint and create something, anything, that would immortalize the beauty of the man standing before him.

“I thought maybe...you might want to make it a regular thing. I could come over more. Come over a lot maybe. If you wanted.” Shiro looked uncertain, as if perhaps he thought Keith might say no.

“For art modeling,” Keith said again, unsure why his brain seemed incapable of saying anything else.

“I mean, if you wanted. And you wouldn’t have to pay me.” Shiro lifted his left hand to rub at his nape. “Shit, I could model for you for the next six months and not come close to being able to pay you back for the coffee machine. Which by the way is probably the greatest thing I’ve ever owned. This morning I woke up at six thirty and my entire apartment smelled like coffee already. Like, I went into my kitchen and my coffee was already done. Just sitting there waiting for me!”

Shiro’s exuberance swirled within Keith, a reaction so visceral he could almost taste it. “You don’t need to pay me back for anything. It was a gift.”

“You just buy expensive gifts for everyone?” asked Shiro.

“No,” Keith divulged honestly. “Only the people I like. Which to be honest is a pretty small list. It was mostly just Pidge and Kosmo and now...now you.”

“You barely know me,” Shiro uttered. Keith couldn’t blame him for his confusion. Keith wasn’t sure he understood it either. All he knew was that it felt good to be near Shiro. He liked the way his face looked when he smiled, like the sound of his laughter and the positive way he saw the world. He liked the way life looked through Shiro’s eyes.

“I’d like to though. If you’d let me.”

Shiro looked unmistakably pleased by his revelation. “I’m honored to be on that list then. And for what it’s worth, I like you too, Keith.”

Shiro lowered his hand from his neck, and Keith watched it hover midair as if he were almost going to touch Keith before he pulled it back, grasping the forearm of his prosthetic.

“I like buying you things,” Keith blurted out.

“Why?” Shiro asked softly.

“I just do.” Keith shrugged, trying to figure out how to articulate what it felt like to be able to spoil someone. He’d spent a lifetime going without, and now that he had more money than he knew what to do with, it didn’t bring him the kind of joy he’d once thought it might. The monetary security was undeniably nice. But the truth was that after a lot of failed dates and bad one-night stands, Keith had slowly come to the conclusion that he was likely going to spend his life with a growing bank account and a moderately empty heart. He had Kosmo and Pidge, and even if he sometimes got lonely, they were more than he thought he'd ever have. He also had his art, which fulfilled him in a way he could have never expected. Sometimes he wished he could go back and promise his eight-year-old self that he wouldn’t always feel inferior and worthless, to let him know that one day people would find value in the things he was good at, and that he loved.

But meeting Shiro, finding someone he wanted to spend his money on, had come as an unexpected but not at all unwelcome surprise. He liked the idea of spoiling the other man, liked the idea of being able to take care of someone else the way no one had ever taken care of him. It was an erotic and tempting scenario to be able to spoil someone.

“I could keep doing it. Buying you things you need. Or things you want. If you’d let me,” Keith murmured.

“So you’d buy me stuff in exchange for…” Shiro trailed off, but the gesture he made towards his own body was more than clear.

“Shit, no! I’m not trying to buy you for sex!” Keith spluttered.

“So then like a modified sugar daddy?” Shiro laughed, but the sound died off when Keith didn’t laugh with him. “Wait are you serious? You want to be my sugar daddy?”

“I mean, Pidge says the non-gendered term for it is glucose guardian. We could use that one if you’re more comfortable.” He tried to make his voice sound light, but it cracked and he felt his chest tighten, the airflow to his lungs constricted. “But I don’t expect anything from you for it. Not like that.”

“What exactly do you want then?” Shiro asked, and it didn’t escape Keith’s notice that despite his hesitancy he hadn’t yet said no. At least not yet.

“Let me take you out.”

“Like the hike?” Shiro asked. He drew his bottom lip between his pearly white teeth making the flesh turn bright pink.

“Yes. I mean, no. Not like the hike. Or um, I mean possibly like the hike.”

“I think you’ve lost me,” Shiro laughed.

“I mean I hope it’s like the hike. That was fun. I like spending time with you. But also no, because this isn’t about the modeling or you thanking me for anything. It’s just...a date.”

“A date,” Shiro echoed blankly.

“You know, where one person takes out the other person and buys them food or drinks or something.” Keith felt pretty certain from the amused smile blooming on Shiro’s face he knew exactly what a date was, but for some reason Keith’s brain refused to tell his mouth to stop talking. “I’ve got to be honest, I don’t date a lot so it’s entirely possible I’ll be awkward and fuck it up, but there will definitely be food and drinks and hopefully good conversation. And I won’t lavish you with things if it makes you uncomfortable. We don’t have to do any of that stuff ever again if you don’t want to. I just...I really want to see you again.”

Shiro took one step forward until he was mere inches from Keith, his entire body radiating warmth. He smelled like fresh air and aftershave, and he tilted his head down until his breath was ghosting across face.

“And uh, what if I like the part where you lavish me in things.” Shiro inhaled, his chest filling as his face flushed red. “Gifts, attention, anything you’ll give me.”

Keith licked his lips and could taste Shiro’s breath upon his mouth, could almost taste Shiro. “I can give you anything you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Shiro choked.

Keith exhaled, imagined himself leaning forward and pressing his lips against Shiro's. Before he could, Shiro let out a desperate breath and then his arms were winding around Keith’s waist as he hauled him up in a searing kiss.

Shiro’s lips were chapped, but his hands soft as the fingers of his left hand slipped just under the hem of Keith’s t-shirt. He didn’t grope at him or manhandle him, just laid the palm of his big hand against the base of Keith's back, and Keith had no idea if he was doing it for Keith’s benefit or his own.

Shiro’s other hand came up, surprisingly gentle as it slid into Keith’s hair and tangled with the longest bits at the base of his neck. Keith got chills down his spine, arching against Shiro as Shiro kissed him slow and sweet in a way that made Keith’s dick ache as much as his heart.

When Shiro pulled back his lips were flushed and Keith inched up on to his tiptoes, his arms winding around Shiro’s neck as he brushed their noses together. Shiro gasped, and Keith felt drunk on the sound, desperate for more.

“I don’t,” Keith promised with a shaky breath. “I always mean what I say.”

“In that case,” Shiro whispered, twining Keith’s hair around his fingers. “The answer is yes. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

****

**~*~*~***

Keith lifted his hand to the door, knocking twice before shoving his hands into his jean pockets and rocking on his heels as he waited for Shiro to answer the door. The apartment corridor was dimly lit, the bulb nearest Shiro’s front door flickering as Keith sucked his cheeks into his mouth.

The minutes stretched on and Keith was just contemplating getting out his phone to make sure he was at the right apartment when the door was pulled open and Keith was met with a sight that would be burned into his brain for all of time.

“Holy shit,” Keith whistled as he raked his eyes up and down Shiro’s body.

Shiro was wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece white linen suit. The pants were stretched taut over his thick thighs, the jacket open to show off a fitted vest that was buttoned all the way up and highlighted his impossibly small waist and flat stomach. Instead of a traditional plain dress up shirt and tie, beneath the suit Shiro wore a pale purple shirt that was open at the collar, the top three buttons undone to show the pale line of his collarbones and the familiar shimmer of a gold chain against the delicate hollow of his throat.

“So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I’m way overdressed,” Shiro laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets with only a hint of self-deprecation. The act pulled the pants tighter across his groin in a way that let Keith know in no uncertain terms that Shiro was as well endowed as he’d previously guessed. His own dick twitched with appreciation, and Keith shifted on his heels, trying to resist the urge to adjust himself and draw attention to the fact that his dick was halfway to hard from one look at Shiro.

“No, you look _incredible_ ,” Keith assured him suddenly feeling underdressed. He looked down at his simple black skinny jeans and dark red shirt and wished he’d grabbed one of the suit jackets he usually wore to gallery showings if he was trying hard to make his agent happy. Dressing up had never been something Keith was fond of, but seeing Shiro looking like a goddamn wet dream made Keith want to to anything to be worthy of standing beside him.

“I look ridiculous,” he mumbled. “When I got home and found the money you’d hidden in my pocket with the note to buy something nice to wear tonight I sort of assumed that was your way of telling me I needed to dress up for wherever it was we were going.” He breathed out calmly, lifting his eyes to Keith’s as his chest rose and fell slowly. The only indication of his embarrassment were the tips of his ears that were rapidly turning a shade of red Keith hadn’t seen since Christmas.

“Fuck. That’s my fault, I’m sorry. I just...wanted you to have something new to wear tonight. And not because there was anything wrong with any of the clothes I’ve seen you in before,” he added swiftly before Shiro could get the wrong idea. “You could make a brown paper bag look good. I just,” Keith stopped fidgeting as he stood taller. “You deserve nice things. I got kinda nervous and thought it might be a nice little surprise, but I should’ve just given it to you before you left to make sure it was alright with you, let you know what I meant.”

“Oh.” Shiro’s ears, if possible, went even redder followed by the tip of his nose. He ducked his head and Keith reached out to put his fingers on Shiro’s chin ever so gently urging it up until they were eye to eye.

“I don’t want to change anything about you. And I meant what I said before if any of that makes you uncomfortable you can tell me any time and I’ll stop.”

“Uncomfortable is the last thing it makes me,” Shiro murmured, the vibrations of his deep voice rattling through Keith’s fingertips.

Keith shifted his thumb, dragging it along the side of Shiro’s jaw and relishing in the baby-soft freshly shaved skin. “What does it make you feel?”

Shiro paused, and the silence wasn’t awkward or full of the kind of strained expectations Keith was used to whenever he tried to date. Instead it felt as natural as breathing. Keith had never believed in fate. He’d never believed in soulmates or love at first sight. When he looked at Shiro though, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Things I can’t say out loud if you still want to go to dinner,” he admitted, the flush still on his face and the echo of a laugh ringing in his voice.

“Fuck,” Keith breathed, pulling his hand away from Shiro’s face before he did something crazy like drag him in for a repeat kiss like before and beg him to skip dinner completely.

“So where are we going for dinner tonight?” Shiro asked, lifting his hand to fuss with the already perfectly done up buttons on his vest.

“It’s a surprise,” Keith said happily, holding out a hand to Shiro.

Shiro gave him a shy smile, reaching out and placing his hand atop Keith’s. His palm was wide, fingers long, and Keith liked the way their hands looked joined like that.

“I’m beginning to really like your surprises.”

The happiness those simple words invoked in Keith was nearly too much to bear, and he closed his eyes to fight off the onslaught of emotions. Behind his shuttered eyelids he could see the future—see himself painting his canvas in swashes of colors that bled together like the sunrise on the first day of summer. That feeling didn’t lessen as they made their way from Shiro’s apartment down to Keith’s red Mustang. In fact it only grew when Shiro widened his legs and scooted across the bench seat so that his thigh was pressed against Keith’s the entire drive downtown, and all he could think about was how right it all felt. It didn’t feel like a first date, like a first anything. It didn’t feel like the beginning of something, but rather the middle—as if he got to jump straight past the bullshit to the best parts.

By the time he and Shiro were sliding into the opposite sides of a worn leather booth in a diner older than Keith was, it was all he could do not to ask Shiro out again. He figured he should probably wait until the date was at least half over before he got that far ahead of himself.

“You know when you said you were gonna take me somewhere I was going to love I wasn’t quite sure what to expect,” Shiro admitted, picking up the laminated menu and flipping it over to read the Friday specials.

“You weren’t expecting this upscale decor?” Keith joked, picking up the single daisy from the little red vase that sat wedged in between a half-full salt shaker and the little container full of yellow and white packets of sweeteners.

“I mean first the coffee, and then the mac and cheese, and then the cash. I wasn’t really sure what to expect tonight. I sort of thought you might go more steak and wine over burgers and shakes,” Shiro said, taking the daisy from Keith. To his surprise, instead of depositing it back in the vase, Shiro tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

Keith gnawed on his bottom lip. “I mean, if steak and wine is more to your liking we can leave and find somewhere else I just—”

“No,” Shiro interrupted, setting down the menu to give Keith his full attention. “That wasn’t what I meant at all. I mean the lavish gifts were nice, don’t get me wrong. More than nice if I’m being honest. I’ve never had anything that expensive, or anyone who wanted to do anything even remotely like that for me. I’m pretty used to doing things on my own. But as much as I liked them, I don’t _need_ them. This place is right up my alley.”

Keith let out a heavy breath. He hadn’t realized how important it was to him that Shiro liked this place, as unassuming and cheap as it was. It was somewhere special to Keith, and until this moment he hadn’t allowed himself to admit that the reason he’d brought Shiro was because he hoped it might become somewhere special to him.

“They have a killer milkshake if you like sickeningly sweet things. Or so Pidge has assured me. They’re not really my thing.”

Shiro grinned, looking closer to twelve than thirty. “I love sweets.”

Keith snorted. “I guessed as much from the way you take your coffee,” he told him, plucking the milkshake menu from where it was wedged in between the ketchup and syrup bottles. He handed it over to Shiro, watching with delight as his eyes widened.

“This one has a donut on top,” he said, voice tinged with awe as if donuts were made of gold.

Keith leaned forward to peek over the menu, his stomach turning in revulsion at the sickly sweet creations. Granted they certainly were pretty, especially the unicorn milkshake that was topped with what looked like half a bottle of rainbow sprinkles, a huge tuft of cotton candy, and a pastel striped straw that was coated in some sort of chunky sugar. Keith felt his blood sugar rise just looking at them.

“Shit, over fifteen dollars for one milkshake,” Shiro grumbled, lowering the menu.

Keith shook his head, pushing the menu back up. “My treat. Pick any one you want.”

Shiro seemed to be considering something before he nodded his head once in acknowledgement. “I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not usually very good at accepting things from people.”

Keith understood that all too well. He was sure if some guy had tried to buy him a coffee machine that cost several grand back before he’d had his own money he would’ve kicked him in the balls. Of course, Keith always had had next to no impulse control and a severe distaste for charity. Not that he saw anything he was giving Shiro as charity. He certainly hoped the other man didn’t see it that way either.

“Can I ask you something?”

Shiro nodded, looking up from the menu to cast his grey eyes on Keith. “Why did you accept those things for me, if you don’t usually like people giving you things?”

Shiro cocked his head to the side as if appraising Keith. “Honestly? It’s hard to say. Gut instinct. Intuition. I just...felt like I could trust you. That probably sounds crazy. I know we barely know each other but—”

Keith’s hand snaked out, his fingers brushing against the back of Shiro’s hand. “It doesn’t sound crazy.”

Shiro grinned. “Well, that’s good. I keep thinking I’m gonna do something to scare you off. You’re almost too perfect to be real.”

Keith froze. “I am not perfect.”

Shrio turned his hand over, letting the tips of his fingers slide across the inside of Keith’s wrist with a soft smile on his face. “Oh, I dunno about that. You’re smart, wildly talented, self-motivated, generous, and the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Pretty sure you should be looking in a mirror and telling yourself those things,” Keith breathed, face flushing with Shiro’s words.

“Nah, I know exactly who I want to be saying those things too, and he’s sitting right across from me.”

Keith cleared his throat. “No wonder you like sweet things you’re very sappy.”

Shiro continued to stroke his fingers along Keith’s wrist, letting his pointer finger slide beneath the leather bracelet on his wrist and letting the pads of his fingers rest flush against his pulse point. “Is that a problem?”

Keith shook his head. “I guess maybe I like some sweet things.”

Shiro got a knowing look on his face, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the arrival of their waitress. To Keith’s surprise, not only did Shiro in fact order a double cheeseburger and onion rings, he also ordered a milkshake called the Mana Monster, a name that meant nothing to Keith, but the photo alone was enough to give him a stomachache. Content to get his usual, Keith stuck with a plain cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.

Ten minutes later when the waitress was back with Keith’s soda and Shiro’s milkshake, the look that crossed Shiro’s face was so priceless Keith knew it would be forever immortalized in his brain.

“I should take a picture of your face right now,” Keith laughed, playfully knocking his knee against Shiro’s beneath the table.

“You should be taking a picture of this masterpiece, is what you should be doing,” he challenged.

“That is a monstrosity,” Keith said, eyeing the dripping beverage with growing horror. Not that Keith hated sweets, he’d just always prefered savory foods to sweets, and the idea of consuming all that in one sitting was a bit much for him. Shiro, on the other hand, looked like a child who had been told Christmas was coming early.

The chocolate milkshake was in a glass cup, the top dipped in some sort of melted chocolate and rolled in chunks of Oreos. Then the top was piled high with mounds of homemade whipped cream and a thick slab of a freshly baked brownie. As if that weren’t enough, sitting on top of the brownie was a scoop of vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two thick just-baked chocolate chip cookies. The entire thing was drizzled with chocolate syrup, large globs of which were pooling on the plate beneath the milkshake. “How the hell do you even eat that? Or drink it? Or whatever the hell it is you’re supposed to do with it.”

“With gusto,” Shiro told him with a wink, pulling the milkshake closer. To Keith’s surprise, instead of going for the straw or the spoon, Shiro leaned in and darted his tongue out. Keith watched with rapt attention as the flat of his tongue swiped along the side of the dripping whipped cream, smearing some of the side of his mouth as he took a bit of the edge of the brownie hanging precariously off one side. Keith had never been more horrified or turned on by a milkshake.

He was so absorbed in watching Shiro he barely even noticed their food being set down in front of him or the bashful smile the waitress cast them when Shiro thanked her. Not that he could blame the waitress. Shiro was licking chocolate syrup off his thumb when he’d said it, and he imagined the waitress was probably thinking the same thing as Keith— _do you need any help with that?_

“You sure you don’t want some?” Shiro asked, still apparently opposed to using silverware and managing to take a massive bite of the ice cream sandwich without knocking the entire thing over.

“I’m good,” Keith assured him, popping an extra-salty french fry in his mouth.

“Can I asked you something?” Shiro asked.

Keith chewed twice more before swallowing with a nod. “Of course.”

“Why here,” he asked, eyes darting around the diner. “I mean the milkshakes are to die for, and the food looks delicious. My god, it’s been so long since I had a burger and fries. But something tells me you don’t come here just for the food, not with it being on the far end of town. We must’ve passed a dozen other burger places.”

“You’re quite observant aren’t you?”

“What can I say, people are usually so busy watching me they don’t realize I’m watching them back,” he said, picking up the largest onion ring and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving Keith's.

“I used to come here right after I aged out of the foster care system.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Shiro said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“No, don’t apologize. It was a long time ago. I don’t mind talking about it. My dad died when I was twelve, and most people aren’t in the market for a kid old enough to remember what he’s lost but young enough to still need it replaced. I was a difficult child. Angry at the world. Anyway, when I turned eighteen there was nothing for me. I’d saved enough money working part-time jobs that I wasn’t homeless, but I could barely afford my rent. Once a month I’d come here on Tuesdays. They had all-you-can-eat pancakes for 4.99, and I’d get here as soon as the special started and stay for hours. I always expected them to get angry or kick me out, but one of the waitresses who use to work here, her name was Krolia, let me stay in her section without complaint. She’d even box me up a double stack of pancakes to take home even though the deal was eat-in only, and I’d get to eat those for breakfast the next few days instead of living on coffee and cold cereal.”

Keith paused. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around his ice-cold glass of Coke, the condensation on the glass dripping onto his shirt as he lifted it and took a deep drink, chest burning with the carbonation. He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him, but he was grateful for his silence, needing a moment to compose himself. It’d been a long time time since he’d told anyone this story, and he’d been unprepared for the wave of memories that assaulted him as he realized that this small hole-in-the-wall diner on the wrong side of town had been the first place Keith had felt welcomed since his dad died. It’d been the lifeline he’d needed to keep going until things got better. And better they definitely got, until sometimes Keith almost forgot how hard his life had once been, and how hopeless things had once seemed.

He set his glass down a bit harder than was necessary, the soda splashing onto the table. Before Keith could apologize, Shiro was patting it dry with a napkin, offering him an encouraging smile.

“Sorry,” he mumbled more to himself than Shiro. “Anyway, I used to draw on napkins or scraps of paper. Anything i could get my hands on really. I’d always loved art, but I thought it was a silly hobby. It never occured to me other people might like what I did, or that I might make a living from it. Krolia had asked about my birthday once, said the restaurant had a promotion where you got your food free on your birthday, so I didn’t think much about telling her. Well sure enough a few months later I come in on my birthday, and she comes over with the biggest stack of pancakes you’ve ever seen, with sprinkles on top even, and a present. I hadn’t had a real present since my dad died and...it was a lot. Markers and sketchbooks and canvases and paint. I kept waiting for her to come back to my table, but she never did. I asked the manager, but he told me that was her last night on shift. I wasn’t family so they couldn’t tell me where she went. But you know that painting you loved, the one with the stars….I did that on the canvas she gave me. She’d left a card in there that told me to follow my dreams.”

“Keith, that’s incredible,” Shiro said, sliding his hands across the table, palms up—his intentions clear but still giving Keith the freedom to make the next move. Normally, Keith shied away from touch, especially when he was upset. He’d learned a long time ago to comfort himself in other ways that didn't require the tactile comfort of someone else. Except looking across the table into Shiro’s eyes he didn’t see pity, only understanding, and Keith found his hands sliding across the table to slip into Shiro’s easily. Shiro’s hands were warm as he rubbed small circles on the inside of Keith’s wrists with his thumb. “So did you ever see her again?”

“No,” Keith said. “I kept coming back here though, just in case. Over the years the employees changed, and so did the menu. But the food was always good and I dunno, I always felt welcome here. And they make a mean burger.”

“I’m glad you brought me here,” Shiro said, his gentle grip unwavering.

“So am I,” Keith said, and it was the truth. For so long this place had been his secret. He’d never even brought Pidge with him. An undiscovered gem he’d relished keeping to himself. Until he’d met Shiro.

“Right, well, that’s enough about me,” Keith said suddenly, pulling his hands back. “You should eat before your food gets cold. There’s nothing worse than a cold burger or french fries.”

Keith picked up his own burger and took a huge bite, making an exaggerated show of his chewing as he waggled his eyebrows. He knew his change of subject was not subtle, but Shiro didn’t seem to mind, wrapping his own hands around his burger and taking a bite nearly twice as big as Keith's. Fuck, Shiro had a bit mouth. Keith nearly choked on his burger thinking about what else Shiro might be able to fit in between those lips. Fuck.

“You alright?” Shiro asked when he finished chewing.

“Fine,” Keith choked out, forcing a smile on his face as he pulled his straw between his lips and chugged more soda. Shiro didn’t look convinced, continuing to watch Keith as he took a much smaller bite. Once he was sure his stomach couldn’t handle any more liquid he set down his almost-empty glass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can,” Shiro replied, wiping his fingers on his napkin and giving Keith his full attention. It startled Keith to see another small example of Shiro making Keith a priority in the smallest but most important ways.

“I was just wondering,” he started, picking up a fry and waving it around, “what's the story behind that.” He gestured towards Shiro’s body with his fry.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Shiro said, lifting his prosthetic and rubbing it with his left hand. “Most people ask right away. They see this before they see anything else.”

“Oh no,” Keith said cottoning on. “I didn’t mean your arm. I meant the, um,” he licked his lips and pointed to his own neck. “I mean the rings you wear around your neck.”

Shiro looked surprised. “You don’t want to know about how I lost my arm?”

“Of course I want to know. The same way I wanna find out what your favorite color is and what your favorite movie is and what makes you smile. But I want to find out when you’re ready to tell me. Nothing about your arm changes how I see you, or how I feel about you.”

“Now who’s the sappy one,” Shiro said, though not even the way he ducked his head could hide the blush appearing on his cheeks.

“What can I say, you bring out the sweetness in me,” Keith answered cheekily.

“For what it's worth, my favorite color is purple, my favorite movie is _Star Wars—_ the originals not the remakes, those are horrible—and you.”

That time it was Keith’s turn to blush.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to you know.”

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Shiro said, “but every time I’m next to you I find myself wanting to tell you things I never thought I’d want to tell anyone. The good and the bad and the really fucking boring. And I want to know the same about you.”

Keith broke one of his fries in half. “What, like you wanna know that I’m shit at doing my own laundry and that I always sleep with a light on because I hate the dark?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Shiro answered, sliding his ankle against Keith’s beneath the table as he lifted the gold chain from around his neck until it was pulled free. The rings clinked together softly as they fell atop his shirt, and Shiro stuck his pinky through one of the rings and lifted them up.

“These were my parents wedding rings. They died when I was fifteen. Well, I died too, or so they like to tell me. We were driving home from my grandparents’ house after Christmas, and I guess someone ran a red light. We never even saw it coming. It’s funny, because the entire ride home my mom kept reminding me to wear my seatbelt, but I kept taking it off to lean out the window because there was a meteor shower and I wanted a better view. She was so mad I wouldn’t listen and kept telling me I was going to get myself killed, but in the end it’s what saved me. I woke up a week later in the hospital with a concussion, a broken leg, and one less arm. They said when they car hit us I flew out the window. My grandparents wouldn’t stop crying when they saw me. My grandma just kept gibbering in Japanese so fast I could barely understand her, but then she placed the rings in my hand and I knew.”

Keith felt heartache well up inside of him. He didn’t pity Shiro. He hated pity. Pity was for people who didn’t know what your life was like and felt sorry for you because they thought whatever had happened to you had broken you. This was something else. This was knowing someone—not just someone, _Shiro_ —knew the kind of loss he knew. It was a twisted happiness as he realized he might not have to censor himself the way he did with Pidge, always aware that most people hadn’t experienced what he had. There was always a small part of him that held back the darker parts of his pain that he usually only let out in his art.

Keith thought about the things people always said to him when they found out his dad was dead and he’d never met his mom, and he thought about the things he wished they say instead of _you poor thing_ or _I’m so sorry_.

“What were they like?” Keith asked quietly, pressing his knee against Shiro’s beneath the table.

Shiro’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before the corner of his lip turned up in a soft smile. “My mom was so smart. Instead of fairy tales she used to read me _A Brief History of Time_ by Steven Hawking. And my dad, he was so great. He wasn’t as smart as my mom, but he never let it make him feel emasculated. He would walk around telling everyone how proud he was of her. My dad was amazing, though in a different way. He could never see someone in need. He was the kindest person I ever met. He just went out of his way to encourage people and help them. I once saw him take his own coat off during a snowstorm to give it to someone else. He walked twenty minutes beside me freezing his ass off, and when I asked him why he told me ‘Coats are replaceable, people are not.’”

“They sound amazing, Shiro.”

Shiro smiled. “They were. I used to tease them because I’d come downstairs and find them slow dancing while the coffee brewed. But I think they were really in love. I put the rings on the day I left the hospital, and I haven’t taken them off. I know it's silly but sometimes I’m afraid if I do I might forget them.”

“It’s not silly,” Keith assured him. “I have my dad’s pocket knife.” Keith took a deep breath, leaning back to get his hand in his pocket as he pulled out the worn knife and placed it on the table between them. His dad’s initials were nearly worn off from Keith rubbing his thumb over them like a worry stone, the once bright blue enamel faded. “It’s the only thing I have left of him besides a few photos. I always keep it in my pocket.”

“What was he like?” Shiro asked. “Will you tell me about him?”

Keith bit his bottom lip as memories flashed before his eyes. He was five and his dad was taking the training wheels off his bike. He was seven and his dad was helping him sand down a wooden race car he’d helped Keith build for show and tell. He was nine and dressing up as a fireman for Halloween because all he wanted was to be exactly like his dad. He was eleven and he’d woken up to find his dad was sitting in the dark reading his school textbooks because he’d never graduated high school but he wanted to be able to help Keith with his homework. He was twelve and saying goodbye to his dad with their secret handshake for what he’d later find out was the last time.

“He was really brave,” Keith whispered. “He was good with his hands. He’d find junk on the side of the road or pallets in the back of stores and repurpose them. I loved to sit in the garage and watch him sand and hammer and paint things. He’d tell me ‘ _One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,’_ and he’d build these funky bookshelves for our house or a real pirate ship in the yard for me to play in when I went through my pirate obsession. Anything he didn’t know how to do he’d try to learn. He wasn’t proud, you know. He asked for help when he needed it and,” Keith exhaled, tracing his fingers across the barely legible T.E.K. on the knife, “and I really miss him.”

“Sounds like a good man,” Shiro said.

“God, he was,” Keith agreed, and for the first time in a long time the edges of the memory didn’t feel quite so jagged. He never talked about his dad, not even with Pidge. He’d almost forgotten that he could think about the best parts of his childhood without having to think about the worst.

“Will you tell me some more about him?” Shiro asked as he slipped his hand beneath the table and let it rest atop Keith’s knee. It was the smallest of touches, but the sense of comfort it evoked in Keith was astounding.

Keith opened his mouth, and before he knew it story upon story were falling from his lips as he found himself laughing so hard he nearly choked on his hamburger, recounting the time his dad had dressed up as Wendy for Halloween when Keith was three because he’d wanted to be Peter Pan. In turn Shiro told Keith about the time his mom had driven him to school for a month in a car painted white that read ‘Shiro for Class President’ when he was thirteen and running for student council in eight grade.

Not all the stories were happy, as they talked about the pain of losing someone that could never be replaced. Stories of loss and grieving intermixed with laughter and smiles as they shared stories of the good times.

They kept talking, and Shiro’s voice got louder as the sky got darker, and all Keith could think was that this didn’t feel like a first date. He couldn't recall the last time he’d felt like it was so easy to open up, or the last time he’d let himself remember all the best bits of his life that somewhere along the way had gotten buried in an avalanche of the loss and pain that had come later.

Keith didn't feel like he was just getting to know Shiro. It felt as if there was a part of him that must have known Shiro all along. As if perhaps in another lifetime they were best friends or lovers—as if perhaps they had always been important to each other once.

Serendipity. Destiny. Fate. Call it whatever you wanted. All Keith knew was that when he looked at Shiro it didn’t feel like this was new. It felt like coming home.

By the time their plates were empty and the table cleared of everything but the bill, Keith’s stomach was full to bursting, his heart even fuller.

Keith felt Shiro’s eyes on him as as signed the bill, leaving a generous tip for their waitress and pushing it to the edge of the table.

“I had a really nice time tonight, thank you,” Shiro said as they each scooted out from the booth.

Shiro paused, letting Keith take the lead and following behind him towards the exit, his palm a solid weight at Keith’s lower back.

When they stepped outside Keith shivered at the wave of frigid wind that assaulted him, nipping at his nose and bare arms, but before he could even get the words _shit it’s cold_ out, Shiro was taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Keith’s shoulders. The jacket was butter soft and radiated warmth from the inside of the diner and Shiro’s body, and Keith tried to be discreet and he tugged the collar up and inhaled the musky scent of Shiro’s cologne. If Shiro’s knowing grin was anything to go by, he failed miserably.

“You’re quite the gentleman,” Keith said.

Without the jacket Shiro’s shirt was even more noticeable, the pale lilac a surprisingly dainty color choice with the masculine cut of the suit and his build. It was a juxtaposition that made Keith want to press himself against Shiro to see how the material felt against his skin, or to see what kind of sounds Shiro might make if he sucked at the hollow of his throat peeking out between the undone collar.

“I do what I can,” he said with a shrug, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of flyaway hair that had fallen out of Keith’s bun behind his ear. He let his touch linger, his knuckles brushing along the curve of Keith’s cheekbone.

Shiro looked beautiful standing there with the moonlight reflecting off his hair, the light casting an almost ethereal glow to his eyes as he inched closer, and Keith could feel his fingers itching to paint the moment he got home. He knew there was no way he was going to sleep tonight.

“Meet me for lunch tomorrow,” Keith said, already desperate to see Shiro again, and he hadn’t even driven him home yet. Shit, but Keith needed to reel things in before he got ahead of himself and scared Shiro or came on too strong.

“I have an all-day seminar tomorrow.”

Keith’s heart plummeted. “Oh that’s okay—”

Shiro open his fist, let his entire hand cup the side of Keith’s face as he leaned down to whisper, “But I could meet you for coffee in the afternoon.”

Keith didn’t have a chance to voice his delight before Shiro was tilting his head down to brush his lips across Keith’s in a kiss so feather light Keith’s hands scrambled out from the cocoon of Shiro’s jack to fist in Shiro’s vest and pull him closer, desperately needing more contact. Shiro let out an oomph of surprise as Keith deepened the kiss, his hand that had been cradling Keith’s face instead slipping around to the back of his neck.

Keith had spent so long not knowing what he was looking for, and somehow in the middle of a half-deserted parking lot of a run-down dinner lit up by the neon lights of the 7-Eleven across the street, he couldn’t help but think that he’d found something undeniably extraordinary in the middle of his ordinary life.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

****

**~*~*~***

“Easy boy,” Keith said, ruffling Kosmo’s head. Kosmo whined, his tail wagging vigorously and knocking into every person who passed them by earning them more than a few dirty looks as Kosmo strained against the leash, clearly trying to find Shiro. “Sorry,” Keith mumbled, trying to corral Kosmo to the edge of the curb as they waited.

Keith turned his head side to side every ten seconds to check if the approaching footsteps were Shiro, though each time they weren’t his shoulders sagged with disappointment. Shiro was already twenty-five minutes late, and while Keith wouldn’t in a million years peg Shiro as the kind of man who would stand someone up, he also couldn’t shake the nagging fear that he’d somehow come on too strongly the night before.

They’d barely managed to make it to Keith’s car in between roaming hands and kisses with as much teeth as laughter. Though Keith had told himself he wouldn’t do it, he’d been unable to stop his mouth from opening the second he’d pulled into Shiro’s apartment complex and inviting Shiro back to his place. Shiro had politely declined, telling Keith he had to go over a few notes before going to bed early for his eight am seminar because his professor was, in his words, “a total nutjob slave driver.” Even though Shiro’s answer seemed plausible and he had no reason not to believe him, Keith couldn’t help but feel that his unplanned, _“You’re not even gone and I already want to see you again”_ parting words were perhaps too much. Keith wanted to kick himself for it. He’d never been good at hiding how he felt, or taking things slow.

Though Keith was sure there was a perfectly good reason for Shiro’s lateness, the fact that he hadn’t answered Keith’s text or called was making doubt pool in the pit of Keith’s stomach like an insidious black hole.

Kosmo whined, sitting at Keith’s feet and shoving his cold wet nose into Keith’s hand. “I know you wanted to see Shiro. Me too buddy, me too.”

“Did someone say my name?” Shiro said, and Keith spun on his heels to see Shiro standing before him, breathless, with a sheen of sweat on his face. His hair was far too windswept for someone who had supposedly taken the bus, and his chest was heaving. He was wearing another pair of well-fitting jeans folded up just enough to highlight his surprisingly delicate ankle bones, and a thin grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest and bulking shoulder and arm muscles as if painted on, though today’s shoes were a more casual pair of black Converse.

“You alright?” Keith asked, watching with bemusement as Kosmo tried to jump onto Shiro, yapping loudly and licking him excitedly.

“Hey, Kosmo,” Shiro laughed, rubbing his sides firmly as he nodded towards a bench a few feet down the sidewalk. Keith followed him without question, Kosmo’s leash held loosely in his hand as Kosmo tried to run ahead of them both.

Shiro sat down first and Kosmo moved immediately to wedge himself between Shiro’s spread legs and plop his jaw on top of Shiro’s thigh. “You miss me, buddy?”

“He likes you,” Keith said, heart racing at the sight of Shiro, the crash of endorphins making him feel slightly off-center now that Shiro was actually here and he could admit, even if only to himself, how worried a small part of him had been that Shiro really might not show up.

“I missed you too, Kosmo,” Shiro told him, rubbing the spot just behind Kosmo’s ears that made him begin to drool on Shiro’s jeans. Then Shiro grinned, leaning to the side and pressing a chaste kiss on Keith’s cheek. “Don’t tell Kosmo, but I definitely missed you more.”

Keith’s pulse raced as his previous worries began to fade away. “I missed you too.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for being late?” Shiro asked, switching hands so he was scratching Kosmo’s head with his left and his right hand moved to rest atop Keith’s knee.

“Oh, were you late, we hadn’t noticed,” Keith lied.

Shiro squeezed his knee. “My seminar ran late, and my dinosaur-aged flip phone decided to go on the fritz today, so I couldn’t even call and tell you. Then I missed the four o’clock bus that runs to Main Street because of the seminar, and the next bus wasn’t going to be there for forty-five minutes, and all I could picture was you waiting for me so I just...ran.”

“You ran? From the other side of town?” Keith said, eyeing Shiro with a fair bit of surprise. The disheveled hair and sheen of sweat on his forehead suddenly made a lot more sense.

“I wanted to see you,” Shiro said earnestly. “You’re incredible motivation.”

Keith learned forward, stealing an unplanned kiss from Shiro, who let out a small _oh_ of surprise before both his hands were cupping Keith’s face as he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. Kosmo whined loudly to show his displeasure at losing attention, but all Keith could focus on was the intoxicating slide of Shiro’s soft lips against his own.

When Keith pulled back, Shiro’s hands fell to rest on Keith’s shoulders as his eyelids fluttered open, a shy smile on his face. “What was that for?”

“Just because,” Keith uttered.

“I like just because.”

Kosmo whined again, trying to climb in between them on the bench, and Keith sighed. “Sorry, I forgot to ask if you minded if I brought Kosmo on our date. He just sat by the door looking so sad when I said I was meeting you that I didn’t have the heart to leave him home alone. I didn’t realize I was going to have to compete for your attention though.”

Shiro’s hands dropped down so that he could lace his fingers with Keith’s, the leash held loosely in between their joined hand. “It’s not a competition. You’ve got all my attention.”

Keith had to fight back the flush he felt building in his cheeks, unused to someone else’s words causing such a visceral reaction in him. “You’ve got mine too,” he said, squeezing Shiro’s hand before rising to stand. “How about we grab the coffee to-go and just walk. We could window shop, see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Shiro stood beside him, Keith’s hand still held in his. “You trying to spoil me again?”

“Only the best for my sugar baby,” Keith teased, unprepared for the way Shiro’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a beautiful pink that made Keith ache to find out if Shiro blushed everywhere. “I want to take care of you. If you’d let me.”

Keith took one step closer, ignoring the way Kosmo tugged on the leash as he laid his hand flat on Shiro’s chest, the erratic _thump thump_ of his heart beating strong beneath his palm. “Do you like that?”

“Maybe,” Shiro whispered. “Is that weird?”

“No weirder than the fact that I like it too,” Keith confessed. “I like it a lot.”

Shiro’s chest expanded as he inhaled deeply. “Then for what it’s worth I really, really like it. At least when it’s coming from you. I’m not sure I’d like it with anyone else.”

“In that case, let me buy your coffee? What are you in the mood for?”

Shiro got a impish look on his face as he took the leash from Keith so he could go inside the Starbucks and order. “What if I told you I wanted something ridiculously sweet _and_ flavored? Maybe a peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. And maybe drizzled with chocolate syrup too.”

“I would say that’s absolutely revolting and how many pumps of syrup do you want?”

Shiro reached out to gently squeeze Keith’s hip. “Four pumps. And maybe a slice of the red velvet loaf cake if they have it.”

“You put the sugar in sugar baby,” Keith joked, rising onto his tiptoes to plant a sappy kiss on Shiro’s cheek before turning around to head inside the busy coffee shop, cognizant of Shiro’s eyes on him the entire time.

Twenty minutes later Keith was back outside with two steaming drinks and a slice of Shiro’s coveted cake .

“So where to?” Keith asked, handing Shiro his treats, memorizing the tiny little sound of pleasure Shiro emitted upon his first sip.

“I don’t know. To be honest I rarely come to this side of town.” The _it’s too expensive_ was left unsaid, but Keith knew exactly what it was like to avoid certain areas of town because the frustration of being unable to afford to shop anywhere or eat in any of the restaurants was a constant reminder of the things you didn’t have.

“Let’s just walk, I think Kosmo is getting antsy anyway,” Keith said, pulling a dog treat from his pocket and tossing it to Kosmo who looked perfectly content to lay on the sidewalk at Shiro’s feet blocking people’s path.

“Sounds good to me,” Shiro replied, offering Keith his arm.

Keith linked his arm with Shiro’s, not at all surprised to find that the conversation once again flowed easily as they began to stroll. It was almost inconceivable for Keith to stop and realize just two weeks before he’d never met Shiro, and today they were walking down the tree-lined sidewalk side by side, easily sharing bits of their day as if they’d done it a million times. It was a little bit crazy and a lot fast and somehow just right.

Keith was so absorbed in his thoughts it took him a moment to realize Shiro and Kosmo had stopped and were peering into the nearest storefront. Keith stopped, backtracking two steps until he was beside Shiro again and no longer pulling his arm down the sidewalk.

“See something you like?” Keith queiried, reading the shop name— _Altea Designs_ —in swirling font above the window before trying to figure out what exactly had caught Shiro’s eye. Through the window display Keith could see an array of men's and women’s wear, most of which seemed to be fairly gender neutral since all the clothing was mixed and there was no clear men’s or women’s side of the boutique. Most of the clothing was white, though there was the occasional addition of something pink or blue and a rather striking jacket with swirls of black and red along the arms that caught Keith’s eye.

Shiro startled and shook his head. “Oh, sorry, no it’s nothing,” he said, but the flush of pink up the side of his neck and the way he’d smashed his bag containing his slice of red velvet cake told another story.

Despite his denial of interest, Shiro made no move to keep on walking. Taking a chance Keith took two steps towards closer to the window, curious to find out what had Shiro reacting like that and more than a little turned on at the idea of being able to buy him more clothing. Shiro’s body was a work of art, and as far as Keith was concerned, he made everything from worn sweatpants to last night's suit look like it cost a million bucks. He had no idea what item of clothing Shiro was drawn to, but Keith could imagine him in any number of the sleek and modern designs he could see through the front window.

“Whatever it is you liked we can get you, if you want it,” Keith offered.

“It’s not the money,” Shiro whispered.

Keith watched the furrow of Shiro’s eyebrows, the faint tension in the clench of his jaw. Whatever it was he liked, he was clearly worried about Keith’s reaction.

“You know you’d look incredible in anything in that store, right?” Keith assured him, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the top of Shiro’s hand. “Even that,” he said, pointing towards the back wall of the store that was lined up in an erotic display of lingerie.

“I mean, maybe,” Shiro answered, his voice quieter than usual. “I was, um….looking at that actually,” he said, and Keith followed his line of sight to a display near the front of the store with delicate silk kimono-style robes. The robe itself was a bright white with thick bold swirls of black around the hem from which rose dark-red cherry blossoms.

“Wow,” Keith breathed, brain short circuiting at the idea of something like that on Shiro. He could already picture the way it would hang on Shiro’s wide shoulders and the way the lose short sleeves would highlight the bulk of his biceps and the strength in his forearms.

Shiro cleared his throat, taking a purposefully long sip of his mocha. “Wow, that’s nice or wow, I’m not into that and I don’t know how to let you down without making it awkward?”

“Honestly?” Keith asked. Shiro nodded. “Wow, like I want to buy that for you and take you home _right now_. Wow like I would give every penny in my bank account to see you laid out in my studio in nothing but that so I could paint the strong lines of your body beneath the delicate drape of that robe. Wow like it’s all I can do to stop myself from pressing my body up against yours, everyone around us be damned, and kissing you until you’re begging me for more because I can barely stand the idea of you wearing that for me. Wow like I want to press you down in my bed, see you spread out for me, and fuck you while you’re wearing that.”

“Holy shit,” Shiro whistled, the high arch of his cheekbones flushed pink.

“Was that too much?” Keith asked. Shit, he was always doing things like that, laying all his cards on the table too soon and overwhelming people. It was like his brain didn’t have a filter, which is why he often found it easier to be on his own or with Kosmo where he didn't have to worry about coming on too strong or offending someone or saying the wrong thing. Keith had always been an all or nothing person, completely incapable of any type of emotional middle ground. “Sorry, sometimes I just say things without thinking and—”

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” Shiro interrupted, right hand fisting in the front of Keith’s shirt and tugging him into a toe-curling kiss. Shiro tasted of coffee and chocolate, his lips were warm and sweet, and Keith’s head spun as he dropped his thankfully empty coffee cup, scrambling to find hold on the front of Shiro’s shirt. “Buy it for me. _Please_ ,” Shiro whispered against his lips in between kisses. “Let me wear it for you.”

Kosmo barked, reminding Keith that he was standing in front of a busy store on Main Street as passersby gave them the side-eye, half hard and basically dirty talking his new boyfriend. Or whatever the hell Shiro was. Keith certainly wanted him to be something special—something more than just a casual good time. Boyfriend. Lover. Something more permanent than just the guy he was currently on a date with.

He knew Shiro liked him. Knew Shiro apparently wanted to go on dates with him and liked this pseudo sugar daddy thing they had going on, but beyond that Keith didn't have a clue if Shiro wanted anything serious or long-term. The thought tugged at him, but Keith pushed it aside, unwilling to ask Shiro for some sort of relationship definition after one and a half amazing dates and the prospect of the painting session of his dreams and hopefully more.

Now was probably not the right time to be wondering about relationship semantics when Shiro was looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes and undisguised desire. Shit, Shiro was going to be the death of him.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, a brush of fingertips against his cheek startling him from his thoughts.

“Yes,” Keith said with conviction. “Yes god, yes.”

After that things became a blur, and Keith wasn’t even sure how he managed to walk into the store and act like a normal human being while sporting a raging hard-on, knowing Shiro was outside the store with Kosmo waiting for him. Knowing that when the overly chatty sales clerk was done ringing him up—a guy named Lance who peered knowingly out the window before winking at Keith as he bagged up the robe—that he was going to take Shiro back to his house and see the robe on Shiro. Not just on Shiro, but Shiro in nothing else. Something that had somehow not happened in any of their art modeling sessions yet because every time Shiro got so much as a t-shirt off Keith’s brain would short circuit and he’d mumble that’s enough.

Then they were somehow back at Keith’s house, the entire car ride back to his place a complete haze. All Keith knew was that when they’d arrived home Kosmo had made a beeline for his stuffed hippo on the couch, stealing the blanket that was there as well before padding over to his dog bed near the fireplace and collapsing as if he’d had an exhausting day. Shiro had laughed and then allowed Keith to take his hand and lead him upstairs, which is how Keith found himself tapping his feet and nervously rearranging his paintbrushes and paint as he waited for Shiro.

“Everything alright in there?” Keith asked, beginning to worry. Shiro’d been in the master bathroom of his art studio for the last fifteen minutes, and though Keith had definitely heard the toilet flush and the sink run, it’d been ten minutes since he’d heard a single peep and he was beginning to worry that Shiro had changed his mind. “If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to come out,” he said loud enough he hoped Shiro could hear him through the closed door.

Thirty seconds passed and Keith was halfway to standing when the door slowly opened, and Keith felt time itself stand still.

Shiro looked almost shy as he came out, his bare feet padding across the cold hardwood floors. He’d clearly tried to fix his hair, which was no longer in complete disarray from Keith manhandling it at some point between leaving the boutique and arriving back here, and his shirt and jeans were gone. He was holding the robe shut at his waist as he walked, the thin silk clinging to the lines of his pert ass as he walked. It came just to mid-thigh and Keith could barely control the urge to palm himself through his own jeans watching the way the light material fluttered against the light dusting of dark hair that graced the wide expanse of Shiro’s thick thighs. Even his shoulders seemed broader in the robe, every supple curve and muscle visible beneath the white silk that was pulled taut against the breadth of his back.

“Hey,” Shiro said, an unfamiliar tinge of timidness in his voice as he stopped at the black chaise lounge Keith had shoved into the middle of the room for him to sit on. Shiro didn’t ask where it came from, and Keith did not volunteer any extra information about the sudden appearance of his impulse purchase three days prior solely in the hope of seeing Shiro’s pale skin laid out against the dark velvet.

Shiro released his hold on the front of the robe and any semblance of self-control Keith had flew out the window as the robe fluttered open. Shiro’s feet were spread wide in a powerful stance that was in direct opposition to the almost shy way he sucked on his bottom lip and stared at Keith. Keith opened his mouth, but nothing came out as his eyes roamed over Shiro’s body, from the slow rise and fall of his chest to the delicate gold chain hanging around his neck—the only thing on his body except for the robe.

Keith’s eyes went lower, trailing down the muscled planes of his stomach and the narrow dip of his waist. Keith barely bit back a groan, unsure if wanted to paint Shiro or touch him more. Shiro’s body was a work of art, his proportions looked carved out of marble, and it was all Keith could do not to drop to his knees at the sight of the dark trail of hair that led from just below Shiro’s bellow button down to his dick, which was more than half-erect and jutted out proudly from a patch of black curls. There was something erotic about the sight of dark hair, something completely opposite from the shock of white hair on his head.

Shiro shifted under Keith’s gaze, his stomach fluttering as he breathed deeply, but Keith couldn't do anything but stare, eyes riveted to the pale skin where his hip joined his thigh, his dick growing harder under Keith’s gaze. Keith felt his own dick begin to harden at the idea of Shiro getting hard from Keith just looking at him, apparently turned on by the idea of Keith liking how he looked.

And fuck did Keith like it.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, knocking his easel to the floor as he abruptly rose, ignoring the way the cup of brushes and tubes of paint clattered to the floor. Normally Keith was meticulous with his art supplies, but right now he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the mess or whether his paint might splatter.

Keith didn’t care about anything except getting closer to Shiro.

“I thought you wanted to paint me,” Shiro questioned.

 _Paint him_. Shit, did he want to paint him. He could see it now, could imagine pressing a post-coital Shiro back on the chaise lounge in nothing but his wrinkled kimono, and painting the languid muscles of Shiro’s just-fucked body.

 _Paint him._ He could imagine slipping out of bed in the dark of night and painting the candlelit lines of Shiro’s back as he dozed in Keith’s bed—uninhibited and warm and leaving Keith’s bed scented with his memory.

 _Paint him._ He could imagine sitting at the kitchen counter on a lazy Sunday morning and painting an image of Shiro puttering around his kitchen in just his boxers, or maybe even nothing at all, making coffee as the mid-morning sunlight filtered in through the kitchen window.

 _Paint him._ He could imagine sitting at the top of the trail summit painting as Shiro rolled in the grass with Kosmo, the summer breeze ruffling his hair as the scent of wet paint and wildflowers filled his nose.

Keith wanted to paint Shiro in all the ways he wanted to know him. _Later_. Right now Keith didn’t want to paint something he could only dream of. He wanted to lay his hands and mouth on Shiro’s body and see for himself what the other man liked, find out what made him scream and lose control.

Keith didn’t want to imagine it all as he dragged his brush across a canvas and created a fantasy, he wanted to make a memory so intense he would never forget it. He wanted something real, and he wanted it _now_.

Stepping over the spilled canvas he moved without grace, the heel of his sneaker sending the paintbrushes rolling across the floor as he slowly moved closer to Shiro until he was standing just inches before him. Shiro closed the final distance, his cock brushing against Keith’s clothed thigh and leaving a wet spot as Keith pressed himself even closer, delighting in the way Shiro angled his hips and widened his stance in clear anticipation of Keith’s movement.

“I want to do so many things to you, Shiro. To you. With you. For you.” Shiro inhaled sharply as Keith reached out to let the tips of his fingertips ghost just beneath the edge of the robe at Shiro’s hip. “I want to ruin you for anyone else ever again.”

“I think you already have,” Shiro breathed, his mouth falling open in a quiet groan as Keith let his fingers tiptoe around Shiro’s side to his lower back, resting the flat of his palm at the curve at the base of Shiro’s spine. Shiro arched his back, a silent invitation for Keith to continue his exploration as he he put his other hand on Shiro’s stomach, resting it there for long seconds to appreciate the fluttering muscles as Shiro tried to control his breathing.

“Keith, baby, you’re teasing me,” Shiro said softly.

“Doesn’t count as teasing if I plan to follow through.”

Shiro exhaled slowly as Keith dragged his nails lightly, scratching down the soft treasure trail and stopping just before he got to Shiro’s cock.

“Shit what are you going to follow through on?” Shiro groaned, his own hands now resting on Keith’s ass and gripping tightly over the thick denim.

“Anything. Everything,” Keith said, letting the backs of his nails lightly drag up the delicate skin at the top of Shiro’s thigh.

Shiro shuddered. “I want what you said before. What you promised you’d do to me. I want that so much, Keith. _Please_.”

“You want me to paint you?” Keith teased, the hand that was at Shiro’s lower back slowly traveling south until the edge of his palm brushed in between the swell of Shiro’s ass cheeks. Tipping his hand sideways, he let his pinkie burrow into the crack as he slowly moved his hand down the ample curve of Shiro’s full butt.

“God,” Shiro groaned, pushing back against Keith’s hand to try to urge it deeper. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit,” Keith grunted, his finger down deep between the crack as his other hand squeezed Shiro’s hips. “I wanna make you feel you so good. What do you like?”

Shiro swallowed, eyes glazed with arousal and his chest already heaving. “I want you to fuck me. I don’t want you to hold back. I’m big enough to take it. I want you to show me exactly how strong you are, baby.”

“Jesus christ, how are you real,” Keith choked out. He moved both his hands to cup Shiro’s ass, one firm globe in each hand. Moving on pure adrenaline, he braced his legs and squeezed Shiro’s ass once more just because he could, before he lifted Shiro up completely.

If Keith weren’t so fucking turned on, the look on Shiro’s face would’ve been comical as his arms and legs instinctively flew around Keith and his eyes widened in surprise. Keith was mildly surprised as well, since Shiro was massive and made of all muscle, but then again Keith was stronger than he looked, and stubborn.

“Holy shit,” Shiro exclaimed.

“Was that what you had in mind?” Keith asked, proud of himself for not letting his voice quiver with the strain of carrying Shiro. He was going to need to increase his strength training if the look of awe and arousal Shiro was giving him was indicative of how turned on Shiro got by Keith’s prowess.

Thankfully it was only a few feet from where they’d been standing to the chaise lounge. Using his more than ample leg strength, he lowered Shiro down slowly, his hands smashed between the warmth of Shiro’s ass and the plush velvet, the cool robe rubbing his forearms. To Keith’s surprise, Shiro didn’t immediately drop his arms or legs, instead staring at Keith as if seeing him for the first time before digging his heels into Keith’s back and arching up against him. Shiro’s cock rubbed against Keith’s shirt, precome staining the thin cotton as Shiro let out a needy sound into Keith’s mouth while he kissed him.

Keith managed to pull his hands out, bracing them on the back of the furniture to get a better hold as he began to rut down against Shiro, his own cock straining painfully at his tight jeans.

“Wait,” Keith said breathlessly, pulling back.

Shiro’s eyes flashed with disappointment and unmistakable concern. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is I think I’m going to die if I don’t get these fucking jeans off,” Keith grumbled.

“Oh,” Shiro laughed, “Is that all? I can help with that.”

Shiro dropped his feet to the floor, hands moving from the back of Keith’s neck to the button on his jeans. Unable to take things slow or romantic, Keith reached for the hem of his own shirt and yanked it over his head roughly, throwing it to the floow as Shiro deftly got his pants undone and began to slide them down Keith’s hips along with his boxers.

Keith reluctantly stepped away from Shiro when he realized there was no graceful way to remove his pants and shoes, barely managing to save himself from falling on his ass as he somehow managed to kick his shoes and socks off before ridding himself of the rest of his clothing in no time. When he stood back up it was to find Shiro leaning back on the chaise lounge, the kimono style robe falling off his left shoulder and his legs spread. His erect cock was hard and leaking against his belly, and his face was flushed with desire as he watched Keith.

“You can do a lot more than just look,” Shiro said when Keith made no move to get closer.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek, unable to feel embarrassed at being caught staring. Shiro was beautiful in a way that made Keith ache. Special in a way that made him never want to let him go.

“Turn around,” Keith instructed.

Shiro didn’t hesitate, moving with a kind of speed and grace Keith hadn’t know a body like that could posses. Shiro onto his knees onto the chaise lounge, widening his stance before leaning forward and letting his big hands wrapping around the tufted velvet on the back for balance. He turned his head to peer at Keith over his shoulder, his chin dislodging the robe and making it slip sideways just enough that Keith was granted the view of of a strong shoulder beneath white silk.

“You gonna touch me yet?” Shiro asked.

“Fuck yes,” Keith said, scrambling over to the desk and yanking open the drawer to find the condom and lube he’d stashed in there while Shiro had changed, just in case. Goodies in hand he crossed the room, setting them down beside Shiro’s knee.

Keith shook his head, blowing the fringe from his eyes as he leaned down, wrapping one hand around each of Shiro’s ankles. Shiro’s breath caught but otherwise he made no movement, still trying to watch Keith over his shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” Keith whispered, thumbs stroking the delicate ankle bones before he let his hands slide up along Shiro’s muscular calves. He paused at the back of Shiro’s knees, leaning down to press a soft kiss to each one, the robe brushing against his face as he did so. Shiro still didn’t speak, instead widening his legs even further and arching back against Keith.

It was all Keith could do not to touch himself, not to wrap his hand around his cock and come from the sight of Shiro laid out before him like this willing and waiting. Except Keith wanted more than that, wanted to give Shiro so much more.

With gentle hands Keith grabbed ahold of the hem of the robe that was hanging mid-thigh and slowly began to slide it up. Inch by inch, more of Shiro’s pale skin was revealed. First the expanse of his thighs, strong and wide and dusted with a light sheen of dark hair. Then the swell of his ass, which Keith had touched before but had yet to see it. It was exactly like he’d pictured, firm and full, and Keith’s own cock ached with neglect, but still he moved slowly until the robe was bunched up at the base of Shiro’s back leaving him on full display.

“Please,” Shiro begged, no longer straining to watch Keith over his shoulder and instead dropping his head down between his shoulders as he spread his legs just that little bit wider. His cock hung heavy between his legs, a few drops of precome already staining the black velvet.

“You can’t imagine what you do to me,” Keith whispered, grabbing the lube and popping it open. He squeezed out a generous amount, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up before bracing his left hand near Shiro’s knees as his right hand moved to Shiro’s ass.

“Tell me,” Shiro pleased. “Tell me what I do to you.”

This time Keith couldn’t contain his groan even if he’d wanted to. Something about Shiro made him feel stripped bare—made him want to share every bit of himself with the man below him instead of hiding it away.

Shiro was the one laid out on display beneath Keith, yet somehow Keith had never felt more naked, and fuck he liked it. He liked the way it felt to be seen by Shiro, wanted by him.

“You make me feel like I’m losing control,” Keith said, the tips of his pointer finger sliding between the crease of Shiro’s ass. Shiro let out a soft whine arching into the touch. “I look at you, and I want you, and it doesn’t feel like the first time. It doesn’t feel like something brand new.”

Keith swirled his finger over the furrowed skin, surprised to find very little resistance as his first finger slipped inside. Shiro was clearly relaxed and turned on, and the realization that he wouldn’t need much preparation assaulted Keith. Soon Keith would be inside of him, would be watching his cock slip into Shiro’s body, and it made him feel undone despite the fact he hadn’t touched himself yet.

“What else?” Shiro asked, voice shaky.

“You like when I tell you how you make me feel?” Keith asked, voice slightly muffled as Keith pressed his face into Shiro’s ass cheek and twisted his finger, pumping it in and out until he felt the muscle around it loosening.

“Yes. Fuck yes. You can’t even imagine what it feels like,” Shiro choked out.

“I want to know,” Keith confessed, sliding a second finger inside.

Shiro moaned quietly as Keith began to scissor his fingers, his head thumping hard on the edge of the chaise lounge. “I feel the same. Feel like I’m losing control in the best way possible. I feel I’m going to go crazy if you stop touching me. All my life I thought what my parents had was a fantasy, but I look at you and I think it could be real.”

Keith’s hand shook at the confession, at the undeniable truth of Shiro’s words. Shiro felt the same. Whatever it was between them was not one-sided but shared, and however inconceivable this thing might be—so new, so fast—they both felt it. Keith’s fingers quivered, his forehead dropped onto Shiro’s back as he pumped his fingers in and out, trying to contain the rush of emotions and arousal he felt.

Unable to wait any longer, and confident Shiro was ready from the way he writhed beneath him, Keith pulled his fingers out. Shiro sighed with disappointment as Keith grabbed the condom, putting it between his teeth and ripping it open.

“I want you,” Shiro sobbed, his hands digging into the velvet so hard Keith wondered if he might leave permanent marks.

“You’ve got me,” Keith said softly, rolling the condom on and then lining his hips up. Shiro wiggled beneath him, head falling down and the muscles in his shoulders visibly tensing beneath the robe. Keith soothed his hands across the sweat-damp skin of Shiro’s back before dipping lower and massaging his fingers into the meaty flesh before spreading them wide open to press inside. Shiro gasped, a sound that was drowned out by Keith’s unrestrained grunt of pleasure as he watched his cock disappear into Shiro’s body bit by bit until his hips were pressed flush against Shiro’s ass.

Keith slowly pulled out then thrust in against, setting up a slow but deep pace that had Shiro clawing at the chaise lounge, leaving nail lines in the brushed velvet.

“Faster, harder,” Shiro choked out.

“Yes, sir,” Keith said, a thrill of adrenaline coursing through his blood at the idea of not holding back. It occured to Keith then how often he held back. Unless he was painting, there was a part of Keith that put up an invisible wall in all of his physical and emotional relationships. A wall Shiro was tearing down with his kindness and strength, with every smile he gifted Keith.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Keith said, pulling his hips out and slamming them back in with such force Shiro groaned as his chest fell down against the back of the furniture. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Shit,” Shiro said, a bit of laughter in his voice. “Don’t apologize, just promise you’ll do that again.” Shiro shifted bracing his arms on the edge of the chaise lounge and repositioning his legs. “I’m ready for it now. Give it to me, baby. Don’t hold back.”

“You sure?”

Shiro nodded. “Positive.”

That was all the confirmation Keith needed before he was grabbing ahold of Shiro’s hips as he pulled all the way out, the tip of his cock rubbing against his entrance before he slammed back in. Shiro threw his head back, letting out a moan that was louder than the sound of slapping skin as Keith set up an intense pace that had his legs quivering and a sheen of sweat covering his body.

It was crazy, because as hard and deep as Keith went, it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more, though more of what he didn’t have a clue, at least not until Shiro turned his head to look at Keith over his shoulder once more. The sight of Shiro’s soft grey eyes as Keith fucked him had Keith halfway to undone in a single glance, and Keith knew then what he wanted.

Keith took one large step back, his cock falling from Shiro’s body.

“What?” Shiro gasped.

“Want to see your face,” Keith said, cognizant of the neediness in his own voice but unable to care. “Please.”

“Oh, yeah... _yes_. God, yes,” Shiro said, flipping himself over so that he was laying on his back, the robe spread out beneath him and dangling off the edge of the chaise lounge as Shiro ‘s long fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs as he bent himself in half for Keith.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Keith bit out at the sight of Shiro, his lube-slicked hole fluttering and his leaking cock red and full. Shiro looked close to ruined. He looked how Keith felt.

“I think you said something about ruining me,” Shiro said, a playful hint of challenge in his eyes.

Shiro’s head was turned sideways, his hair an even more vivid shade of white against the dark black velvet. The tuft of floof in the front was falling into his eyes, his face and neck flushed pink, and Keith’s chest ached with the depth of his desire for him.

Keith didn’t just want to ruin Shiro, he wanted to love him.

“You up to the challenge, baby?” Shiro teased, arching his back enough that his pecs stood even more prominently than before.

Keith only realized then that he was just standing there looking, and as good as the view was, he wanted to touch more than he wanted to look. He could feel the smile spread across his face as his knees hit soft velvet, an echoing smile on Shiro’s face.

Keith stayed like that, leaning over Shiro and mentally tracing the lines of his face, for only a few seconds before his hands were on Shiro’s warm skin and he was sliding in again. The new position changed everything as Keith guided Shiro’s knees over his shoulders.

Shiro scrambled to grab ahold of Keith’s hips as Keith resumed his pace, the entire chaise lounge squeaking and shifting beneath them as Keith thrust into Shiro. His own hands fell down on either side of Shiro’s face and he was intensely grateful that Shiro was more flexible than he looked as Keith fucked him deeper and harder with every single thrust.

Keith knew he was close, hoped Shiro was too as he picked up the pace even more, his legs beginning to shake with exertion. Keith leaned down, literally bending Shiro in half and bringing their lips so close they were almost kissing, but Keith couldn’t seem to coordinate that in between the heart-fluttering intensity of his own thrusts. Instead he panted into Shiro’s mouths, delighted to see Shiro just as incapable of anything except gasping. Keith didn’t know how long they stayed like that, half moaning and half screaming into each other’s mouths, their lips just brushing against each other’s every time Keith fucked into him. It was the most desperate, erotic not-kiss of Keith’s entire life, and before he could stop it he felt his own orgasm building to a crescendo, and then his hips stuttered as he slammed them against Shiro’s and pushed all the desperation he felt into the kiss.

Shiro moaned, the sound wanton and desperate as Keith wedged his hand between their bodies, unable to stop the slow rut of his hips despite how sensitive his cock felt as he wrapped his fingers around Shiro’s cock and began to pull him off. Shiro was responsive, his heels digging almost painfully into Keith's shoulder bones as he sucked hard on Keith’s bottom lip.

It was less than a minute before Keith’s swollen lip was falling from Shiro’s mouth as it fell open in a broken-off scream, his fingers clawing at Keith’s side while he gasped deeply, struggling to catch his breath as he came hard and fast between their bodies.

Keith moved back a few inches, watching Shiro groan as he stretched out his long legs on the chaise lounge. He pulled out to tug off the condom, tying it and then tossing it to the floor with a grimace, promising himself to clean it up later before grabbing his discarded t-shirt off the floor and using it clean Shiro’s come-stained stomach. The stained robe and velvet were out of Keith’s control, and he shrugged, throwing the dirty shirt to the floor before finally collapsing atop Shiro like a deadweight.

“Fuck,” Keith grunted into the side of Shiro’s neck.

“Mmm, fuck indeed,” Shiro agreed, his left hand now tracing what felt suspiciously like a heart design along Keith’s back. “I think we might’ve ruined this,” Shiro said, tapping the chaise lounge with his free hand.

Keith grunted. “Don’t care.” He wasn’t about to tell Shiro the entire reason he’d bought the damn thing was because he’d been unable to stop imagining fucking Shiro on it. At least not yet.

“How about we move to the bed, might be more comfortable,” Shiro suggested, pressing a single kiss the top of Keith’s head.

Keith grunted again, wishing he were more eloquent.

“That a yes?” Shiro laughed, the vibrations echoing against Keith’s chest.

“Bed is good. I think I’m dead.”

Shiro laughed louder this time, swinging his legs sideways and somehow managing to take Keith with him. This time it was Keith whose arms and legs wrapped around Shiro as Shiro began to carry him across the studio.

“I’m exactly as strong as I look, remember,” Shiro teased at the look of surprise Keith could feel written across his face.

“In that case, next round you do all the work,” Keith said, resting his chin on Shiro’s shoulder. He never would’ve thought he’d let someone else carry him, or that he might like it, but the strength of Shiro’s arms as he held him up and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against Keith’s made him feel content and safe in a way he’d never once realized he was missing.

“I think I can manage that. You gonna let me fuck you good, baby? Let me ruin you?” Shiro asked, somehow managing to hold all of Keith’s weight with one hand as he opened the door to the studio and started to make his way down the hallway still carrying Keith.

“Mine’s the first door on the right,” Keith mumbled into the salty skin of Shiro’s neck, lazily kissing across the top of his shoulder. “And you already have ruined me,” he confessed.

Once again Shiro braced all Keith’s weight on his left arm as he turned the bedroom knob with his right hand and kicked it open. He didn’t seem to spend any time appraising the room, instead climbing on and depositing Keith in the middle of his bed.. Keith groaned at the feeling of his cool duvet against his flushed body, throwing his arms and legs out and grinning up at Shiro.

Shiro looked equally pleased, stretching himself out across the majority of the king-sized bed as he threw an arm and leg over Keith.

“For what it’s worth,” Keith said, letting his fingers graze along Shiro’s arm and across the silk of the robe he was still wearing, “about what you said before. I feel it too. I think...I think it's real when I look at you too.”

Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith tighter, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“How do you feel about going out for breakfast tomorrow morning?” Keith asked, body going heavy. He’d never been one for naps, but with every passing moment he felt his body relaxing, the comforting weight of Shiro atop his body and the orange hues of the sunset slipping into the room lulling him into a state of complete relaxation where the odds of him falling asleep seemed inordinately high.

“You wanna pick me up for a date tomorrow morning?” Shiro asked.

“Was hoping maybe you’d still be here,” Keith revealed. He stared at the white of his ceiling and tried to control the erratic fluttering of his heart. “Was hoping you might stay the night.”

“Oh.” Shiro inhaled softly, nuzzling his face into Keith’s neck as he pressed a kiss to his fluttering pulse point. “Yes. _Yes_. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Keith let his eyelids flutter shut at those words, the gentle rhythm of Shiro’s steady heartbeat and even breathing lulling him closer and closer to sleep.

The last thing he was aware of before the world slipped away in a haze of contentment and happiness was Shiro’s whispered, “I’ll take care of you too, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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